


Whenever You're Ready

by callmesweetpotato



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cheating, Fluff, Happy Ending, Harry is kind of a dick, M/M, Slow Burn, because his poems make me hurt, but louis is too, but not between L&H I'm not a demon, charles bukowski quotes, drunkard!Louis, famous!harry, larry stylinson - Freeform, music fic, of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 60,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmesweetpotato/pseuds/callmesweetpotato
Summary: Louis is in an alcoholic relapse, brought about by Harry leaving him to pursue a music career just when they were about to get married. Louis, left in their home in Cheshire, remains haunted by the past while Harry skyrockets to fame. When Harry reappears in his life five years later after he stormed out and took Louis' heart with him, they both have to learn how to forgive - but do they learn how to forget?or the one where harry comes back to cheshire to take back what was supposed to be louis' wedding ring, and louis is stubborn and can't stop writing songs about harry if he can help it
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 45





	1. My Precious

**Author's Note:**

> hello all! during the pandemic, instead of doing anything artistic or productive, i got sucked back into this godforsaken ship :--) i have missed it terribly.
> 
> this is my first time writing a fic in a long time; it actually started out as a stupid challenge with friends, and it wasn't supposed to turn out THIS long, but well. how can i be anything else but invested when it comes to larry?
> 
> i do hope someone enjoys this fic. i've poured a lot of heart and work into it. cheers, i hope you're doing safe and well wherever you are. x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, this fic was also inspired by the song Stay by Mayday Parade. this fic is littered with different songs as well, whether they're from 1D, H&L's solo careers or from different artists. will let y'all know what songs i drop in the fic :)

_I loved you  
_ _like a man loves a woman he never touches, only  
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have  
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a  
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,  
but that didn’ happen. _

_— An Almost Made Up Poem; Charles Bukowski_

¤

Louis downs his eighth beer of the night, barely feeling the liquid rush down his throat. He sets the bottle down quite loudly on the bar counter. A few customers around shoot him looks, and he can't quite blame them. He probably looks as shitty as he feels. 

"Another beer?" the bartender asks, then sees the state Louis is in. "Actually, maybe you shouldn't have another beer."

Louis eyes Niall blearily. He can feel himself swaying in his seat as he lifts his hand up to give him the middle finger. "Yeah, m’okay, mate. No more beer." Louis pauses to belch out loudly, and he can taste vomit in his mouth. "No beer. It's time for some shots."

"Lou, no," Niall says as sternly as he can. Louis absentmindedly thinks he looks like a child when he tries to be serious.

"Come _on,_ Niall, it's Friday night," Louis whines, reaching out to him from over the counter. He bumps his bottle with his elbow, and Niall swiftly catches it before it rolls off. "You won't see me here tomorrow, I promise."

Niall scoffs. "Yeah, because you’re gonna be admitted to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Again." Niall grabs a wet glass and starts wiping it with a dish rag. "Just wait, Liam will be over in a minute to bring you home."

Louis groans, too drunk to fight anymore. He lowers his head to the cool surface of the table. He can feel the world spinning around him, and as always, visions of curly hair and green eyes assault his mind when he closes his eyes. In this blurry memory, he's all sunshine and radiance, laughing at Louis with his ridiculous mouth.

Louis snaps back up and opens his eyes, shaking his head vigorously. It's a bad idea, because he ends up slipping from his seat onto the floor with a loud crash.

He barely registers the surprised gasps from other customers as Niall rushes to him, barely registers the flaring pain coming from his backside. He can't quite hear what Niall is saying into his ear when he feels a strong pair of hands lift him up. Liam's here, Louis realizes in a daze, watching his best friend's face with an ironic drunk focus as he heaves Louis back up.

"Nothing to see here," Liam says to all the customers, waving them off. Then he mutters to Niall, "How many drinks has he had?"

"Eight beers and two G&T's," Niall answers, and that's when Louis starts to spin in and out of consciousness. He can't quite hear what Liam and Niall are talking about - something about someone visiting? He can't know for sure, because the next thing he knows is Liam hauling him out of the bar into the backseat of his car. When the door shuts at Louis' feet, he allows himself to drift off into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

¤

Harry shifts nervously from one foot to the other as he stands in front of Louis' house. It looks exactly the same - the wooden front door with two lovebirds engraved at the center; the cream paint finishing over the ply board walls; the brick red pebbled walkway coming up to the front door lined with small hydrangea bushes. It's eerie being back here after five years, at the house they once shared. It's bringing back too many memories that Harry cannot deal with right now.

It looks exactly the same, except that Harry hasn't been here at all.

He takes a deep breath. He wouldn't even be here if Louis had just returned his emails about Harry getting his grandmother's ring back. He even sent out handwritten letters over the past year, and all he got were his letters back with no reply.

He can feel annoyance prickle in his chest. Nothing's changed - Louis can still be so petulantly childish. Louis didn't even _have_ to reply to his emails, he could've just mailed the ring to Harry, then this could all be over. He gave his L.A. address to Louis, too; he would’ve offered to pay the delivery fee.

Harry jumps a little when his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He smiles when he sees it's Matt, accompanied by a photo of them on vacation in Hawaii. It was the vacation they took 3 months ago, when Matt got down on one knee and proposed - the picture-perfect Hawaiian proposal on the edge of a cliff at sunset. The press had a field day when they got the photos. _Music’s It Couple Gets Engaged!_ , headlines had said, pouring from every media and gossip outfit across the world.

Harry answers the call. "Hey, Matt."

"Hello, darling," Matt says through the phone. "I'm just about to turn in. How's it going there?"

Harry bites his lip. Matt doesn't know about Louis, about their almost-marriage, about how he up and left England with barely a proper word to Louis or his family. All Matt knows is that he's meeting a local songwriter in London for his next album, and that he’ll be visiting family in Cheshire. That wasn't exactly a lie. "It's great being back here. But I miss home already."

Matt chuckles, and Harry's heart immediately warms up. "You left L.A. yesterday. Don't be so dramatic," he teases.

"You know that will never happen," Harry replies, then catches a light being opened from the window directly above the front door. It's the room that he and Louis shared for two years. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to think about that. He can’t feel guilty forever. "I gotta go, babe. Duty calls."

"Okay. Have a good day, babe, love you."

"Love you." Harry hangs up and looks back up at the window. He thinks he sees the curtain shut swiftly the moment Harry looks up. He sighs. He doesn't think it's going to be easy to get the ring back.

Despite himself, he vividly remembers the night he left his grandmother's ring here, the ring he had planned to slip onto Louis’ finger on their wedding day. Instead, it was a cold January’s night five years ago when he had placed the ring in Louis' shaking hand, and he almost couldn't bring himself to look up at Louis' tear-streaked, dejected face. _I'll be here when you're ready,_ Louis had said, softly, broken, trembling. They were supposed to be married in four months. Harry almost couldn't leave.

But he did. And five years later, here he stands, with a successful music career, about to ask for his ring back.

 _I’ll be here when you’re ready._ Louis’ voice echoes clearly in his mind.

Harry sighs. He supposes it would be hard, even if it has been five years since. Louis wasn't the type to forgive and forget all that quick anyway. That man knew how to hold a grudge. Plus, he never moved away from Holmes Chapel. He had to stay behind with all the things that would remind him of their relationship.

Harry breathes in deep, and lets it out slowly. It'll be alright, he tells himself, it's been five years. They are no longer the starry-eyed, naive 22-year olds joined at the hip since they were in their teens, believing their relationship was forever untouchable. It was the Titanic, and as much as it had been massive and beautiful and looked to be indestructible, the day it sank was both spectacular and grim.

_It was a good thing that I left. We were too young to know what we really wanted._

But now, they're mature adults, presumably. Louis would listen to reason. At least, Harry hopes he would.

Harry steels himself and rings the doorbell, and waits.

After a minute, nothing happens. Harry frowns; he could have sworn he saw Louis peering at him from above. He rings the doorbell again, for longer this time. He understands it's 7 in the morning, but it's a Monday, and Harry assumed Louis would be up for work. As he presses on the doorbell yet again, he briefly wonders if Louis still works down at the bakery. There's not much work options here in Holmes Chapel.

He doesn't realize he still has his finger on the doorbell when the door creaks open, and there Louis is.

He's different than Harry remembers; Louis' shoulders are leaner now, and his skin is tanner than it was before. His face is more gaunt as well, highlighting the sharp cheekbones Harry was once obsessed with. He looks tired, swamped in an oversized, fading white shirt Harry subconsciously recognizes as one of Louis' favorite shirts to wear to sleep. His eyes, which Harry remembers to be a piercing blue, are glaring at him, the color of a furious ocean in the middle of a storm.

"Hullo," Harry says, suddenly unsure of what to say. He planned a whole speech in the car on the drive here, but seeing Louis for the first time in five years has left him speechless. It wasn't in a pleasant way, either - he felt unhinged and incredibly out of place in his hometown, aggravated by the accusatory look in Louis’ eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Louis asks, and his voice is low, raspy, dangerous. He keeps the door close to his body, like he's protecting himself from Harry with it.

"I, uh - you've been getting my emails," Harry says. It's not really a question.

"Yes, I have," Louis replies coldly. Harry waits for him to add to that, and is met with silence. Harry sighs; this really won't be easy.

"You haven't been replying to any of my emails or my letters, Louis," Harry starts, but Louis snorts before he gets to continue. "What?" Harry says, annoyed.

"I don't need to reply to you," Louis all but spits out. He starts to close the door. "Goodbye, Harry."

"No, wait!" Harry pushes his hand on the door, trying to keep it open. "I just need the ring, Louis, then I'll be out of your hair."

Louis glares at Harry’s hand, as if it’s offended him somehow. "Is that really all you're going to say?" Louis' eyes are terrifyingly dark now.

"It's really what I came here for. Let's not do this," Harry says, trying to keep calm, though a tinge of exasperation seeps into his voice. "Let's be reasonable-"

"I don't need to _be_ anything." Louis looks down at the ground, and Harry sees him clench his fist. "You can't even begin to understand-" Louis stops mid-sentence, then closes his eyes. "You know what? Just go away."

Harry tries to tamp down at the frustration that's building. "Louis, come on, just give me the ring-"

"Get off my property now, Harry, I swear to fucking God," Louis says slowly, and it's the most menacing voice Harry's ever heard him speak in. He lets go, and the door promptly shuts in his face.

Harry clenches his fists and tries to keep himself from shouting in frustration as he walks back to his rented car. He expected to drop by, get the ring, and be back in L.A. after two days. Looks like that isn't happening.

¤

Louis jolts awake to his phone ringing incessantly on his bedside table. He’s got a major headache, and when he sees that it’s already 11 AM, he groans. He picks up the call.

“Hello?” he says, and his voice is rough, barely intelligible. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hello?”

Liam’s frantic voice comes through his speakers. “Louis, thank _God_ , you’re finally awake. Where are you? Client’s going to be here in two hours!”

Louis groans, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. His head is still spinning a little from last night, from the two bottles of gin he finished in just one sitting. “All right, I’m sorry, I’m going to ask if Robin can drive me to the train station so I can get to London just in time. I won’t be able to drive myself there anyway.”

Liam sighs softly. Louis feels a twinge of guilt in his chest as he stumbles from his bed and rummages through his closet for something presentable. “All right, Lou. Take care.” Then Liam pauses. “Let’s go out for dinner tonight, yeah?”

“Okay, Liam. I’ll see you.” Louis hangs up the phone and looks at himself in the mirror above his dresser, taking in his thin face and shallow collarbones. When Harry had left five years ago, Louis stayed in touch with Anne and Robin, and they played a big part in taking care of him through the grief. Those difficult years brought them closer than ever. Their home may as well be his childhood home too, considering how much time he spent there with Harry when he was younger.

He wills himself to stop thinking about Harry, but fails - Harry, who he saw for the first time in five years just 3 days ago. Harry looked older, and Louis admits he’s filled out quite nicely. He’s lost most of his baby fat in favor of a chiseled jaw and muscled arms. Louis hates that he looks good, even _better_ \- Harry, with his stupid, sleepy green eyes and the dumb, syrupy way he says “hullo”.

As he trudges down the stairs, he tries to ignore all the photographs of him and Harry up on the walls. He's been meaning to take them down, but he hasn't gotten around to it, couldn't bring himself to. Despite all the anger Louis has been harboring in the past five years, he can't bear to see the pictures and stow them away somewhere in a box that would soon be forgotten. It's this anger that's kept him alive and going all these years.

At the foot of the stairs, he spots Dusty, Anne's cat, peering up at him. She's been gone for four days, probably chasing mice God knows where. She does that often, though she loves to return to Louis' house instead of Anne's. He's grateful for the company.

Louis stares at her ruefully. "Oh, to be a cat with no care in the world," he muses out loud. She just stares back at him, unblinking. He's officially gone mental. He hurries to the kitchen, grabs Dusty's water bowl and fills it up in the tap. He sets it down by his feet, and she immediately laps at the water. He pats her head, whispers, "I'll be back soon, love," then walks out the front door and locks it behind him. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and trudges on to Anne and Robin's place.

He wonders if Harry’s told Anne and Robin that he’s back. Considering the scarce contact there was the past five years between Harry and his parents, Louis doubts it - and it’s not like Anne and Robin didn’t _try_ ; they tried hard, for the first year, to keep in touch with Harry when he left for L.A. It was Harry who barely responded, Harry who continuously snubbed them. Louis doesn't know how he just did that.

He guesses the fame and the wealth Harry amassed over the years would be enough.

Anger flares up hot inside of him, and he reaches for his phone and dials Anne's number to distract himself from the familiar ache.

Anne picks up on the third ring. "Louis, good morning, love!" He can hear the faint sounds of kitchen work from the other end.

"Anne, I'm so sorry I have to ask this of you last minute, I'm in a rush." He sees their house up at the end of the street, so he starts jogging. "Is Robin home? I need to be at the train station as soon as possible."

"Oh, lovely," Anne says warmly, and Louis breathes out a sigh of relief. "Robin and I are actually heading to Birmingham to see Gemma today. We can drop you off at the station on the way."

"Thank you _so_ much, Anne, I owe you one," Louis says.

"Oh, stop," Anne says fondly. "You're like a son to me." Then, Louis hears her call out to Robin, "Honey, we have to drop Louis off at the station!" Distantly, he hears Robin shout back, "Okay!"

Louis smiles to himself as he bids them goodbye, nearing the familiar house. A wave of comfort washes over him as he takes in the dusty red roof, the wooden elevated porch, the weathered bay windows bracketing the front door. When his mum and his sister had passed away two years ago, Louis thought he wouldn't be able to recover from the gaping hole that they, along with Harry, left in his heart. Louis had spent most of his days here, in this house, unable to bear the loneliness of his own. Anne and Robin, bless their souls, wordlessly and automatically took in Louis like a son.

And it isn't strange; it's the most comforting thing, since Anne has basically been his second mother ever since he moved here 14 years ago and met Harry.

He shakes the barrage of memories of him and Harry as kids - them sitting by the bay window as they people-watched, their first kiss on the porch at fourteen, the countless times Louis dragged a drunk, still-a-minor Harry inside - as he jogs up the steps to the front porch and raps on the door. He can feel the alcohol still sloshing around in his stomach. He winces, not looking forward to the jerky train ride to London.

Anne and Robin file out of their front door in seconds. It's a rush of hugs and good morning's and "I'm sorry we can't bring you in for a cuppa, but here's one in a tumbler" as Anne hands Louis said tumbler, his favorite one with the cartoon drawing of a frog. He tries not to think about how he had teased Harry mercilessly before about how much he looked like the cartoon. They pile into Robin's old minivan, and in a matter of fifteen minutes, they're dropping Louis off at the station.

Louis gets settled in the train, thankful it hasn't filled up with other commuters just yet. He glances at his watch - 11:25. He'll get to the studio a little later than the scheduled time. He hopes the client runs late as well.

As he sips his tea - perfectly made, a dash of milk and no sugar - he wonders if he should have mentioned Harry to Anne and Robin earlier. He couldn't bring himself to, not when they were talking about how excited they were to spend the whole day with Gemma and her baby. He didn't want to douse that fire. He makes a mental note to visit Gemma on the weekend, and to buy her something for little Eric.

The train lurches particularly hard, and Louis bites back a big belch, still feeling a little sick from the night before. It's been a while - around a year, maybe - since he drank himself to death on a weekday, and he’s been doing really well at reining in all the drinking, but Harry showed up and, well. Louis didn't know exactly how to handle that.

He thinks about Harry's ring, the one that his grandmother gave to him before she died. _Keep it within the family,_ she had told Harry. _It's a family ring._

Well, Louis has been more a part of the Styles family the past five years than Harry has been. He tries to tamp down the twinge of guilt that pops up; Anne has reassured him over and over again that it was his to hold onto whenever he tried to return the ring to her. He's kept it all these years, selfishly hiding it, shoved inside a small shoebox at the back of his closet along with the wedding ring he had bought for Harry all those years ago.

Harry had found out about it the night Louis bought it, of course, even if Louis meant for it to be a surprise. Louis remembers how Harry had badgered him about it the whole night, ignoring Louis' protests with that cheeky, boyish smile on his face. _Come on, you know I'm not going to stop pestering you,_ he had said, until Louis caved in to his wishes, like he always does. Like he always used to.

He can never forget the way Harry's face had lit up when he first saw the ring, a plain gold band with three tiny diamonds on it. Simple as it was, it brought a twinkle of pure joy in Harry's wide eyes, and they had one of their better nights that night, even if they had already been fighting more often back then. About their careers, and moving out of England.

That was also the night Harry showed Louis his grandmother's ring. After all these years, Louis' chest still clenches painfully as Harry's soft, almost shy voice floods his mind; he had said he couldn't imagine giving the ring to anyone else, how he couldn't imagine loving anyone as much as he loved Louis. _No one else deserves this ring,_ he had said. _No one holds a candle to you, Lou,_ he had said.

Then four months later, he had watched Harry pack his belongings in his luggage and leave through the front door without looking back, leaving Louis and the rings and their future behind. 

Louis smiles bitterly, his grip tightening imperceptibly around Anne's tumbler. That stupid wanker has always been so melodramatic - gone are the days Louis thought it was endearing.

Louis gulps down a huge amount of tea, and it's that moment when the train chooses to lurch forward violently yet again, causing some of the tea to spill on Louis' painfully white button down. Louis groans quietly to himself. Nothing else today can go more wrong than this, can it?

And when Louis arrives at the recording studio he and Liam own at the center of London to the news that their client cancelled last minute, Louis finds out that yes, indeed, it can.

¤

Harry's back in front of Louis' door on Friday, just after lunch. The whole week, he had been stewing in his hotel room, trying to figure out how he could finally convince Louis to give back his ring. Unfortunately, he came up with nothing of substance. Persistence would have to be the way to go.

He has rung the doorbell five times, but no one has come down to get the door. Harry peers at the garage towards the left, and Louis' old car is sitting there. _Seems like he's home, but just ignoring you._

Harry grits his teeth. He's not at all surprised.

Harry turns on his heel and walks away, getting into his rented car. Now, he doesn't know what else he could do while waiting for Louis to come to his bloody senses, but he starts the car anyway and drives, with no real destination in mind.

Though it usually leaves a sour taste in his mouth, Harry's now grateful that he never really talked about his childhood and hometown in the past five years. He doesn't think he can handle coming back here, dealing with Louis, and trying to keep a low profile all at the same time. Nobody apart from his and Louis' family knows about him and Louis, and Harry prefers it stay that way. The press would go nuts over a juicy scoop like that; he can see the headlines now: _Matt Bonnet and Harry Styles, a sham of a relationship! Question is, does Matt know yet?_

Plus, he wants to tell Matt about it himself. He plans to tell him as soon as he gets the ring back. He just needs the goddamn _ring._

He drives up the road until he spots his childhood home a block away. Harry gulps, prickly shame building up, making his stomach churn. On the way to Louis' house today and last Monday, he had driven by it, but couldn't bring himself to get down and go in. He had studiously avoided looking at it for too long, stepping on the gas ever-so-subtly to get away as quickly as possible from the fog of memories enveloping the house.

It was painful to think about how his relationship with his own family fell apart, and even more painful to accept that it had been completely his fault. It had been too difficult back then, when he had just left - talking to his mum so obviously sad on the phone knowing that he had left so gracelessly. It had just seemed easier to let it die down.

 _Fuck it,_ Harry thinks, slowing down to pull his car over at the front of the house. _It's time to own up to your shitty behavior, Harry. Don't punish your parents just because it's bloody awkward._

As he gets out of the car and starts walking up through the painfully familiar front garden - _nothing's changed, mum still has no idea how to keep plants alive_ \- his heart begins to pound nervously in his chest. He wonders if his mum still loves him as much as she did. He couldn't blame her if she didn't.

Still, his hands don't stop trembling as he brings them up to knock at the door. He takes a step backwards, wondering if it's too late to leave, then kicks himself mentally as he chastises himself, _You don't get to leave them again, you twat._

Then the door opens widely, and his mum, lovely even with her stained apron and hair in a slight disarray, is standing in the doorway. When their eyes meet, her whole body goes rigid, and her mouth opens wordlessly. She looks as if she's seen a ghost.

Harry can feel himself retract, can feel his chest starting to constrict as he watches his mum just stand there motionless -

And then he is enveloped in her big hug, the impact so forceful Harry almost slips and pulls them tumbling down the porch steps. He catches himself at just the right moment, and he can smell his mum's lavender-scented shampoo, overwhelming his senses. He is immediately transported back to when he was twelve when he had just gotten back from summer camp, to the moment his mum rushed outside the front door and took him in her arms. He wraps his arms around her now and hugs her tight, drinking her in, vowing to never let her go like he did ever again. He chokes back a sob at the emotions welling in his chest and getting caught at his throat.

"Harry, oh my word, it's really you," he hears his mum say breathlessly, then she pulls away and smacks him lightly on the right side of his head.

"Ow!" Harry exclaims, more out of surprise than pain.

"You leave in the middle of the night five years ago, and all we get are measly five-minute calls every six months? I did _not_ raise you that way, Harold," his mum says sternly, but there is mirth in her eyes, the one that never goes away, always letting Harry know he is still loved.

 _Harold._ And again, Harry feels so overwhelmed he thinks he could cry. "Mum, I can't - I am so sorry-"

"Hush, now, love, I know," Anne says softly, tenderly. She wraps a comforting hand around Harry's elbow and leads him inside. "Come on, let's get you in."

"I need to apologize to you," Harry protests as he lets Anne lead him in, but he stops in his tracks as he stands in the doorway of his childhood home. Everything is achingly the same - the rickety wooden staircase to the right where Harry and Gemma used to slide down on a piece of cardboard; the gray carpet flooring that never went back to white no matter how much they cleaned it; a sliver of the cozy breakfast nook some paces across the doorway where Harry spent many sleepy mornings trying to get out of going to school.

His mum is watching him, waiting, concern in her eyes. He can't help but throw himself at her, going in for another tight hug, sobbing apologies and barely coherent _I love you's_ into her hair as she draws circles on his back comfortingly, telling him over and over again that she loves him, too.

A few minutes later, once Harry had calmed down, they're sitting in the breakfast nook. It was a pretty tiny space, enough only for a small, circular wooden table for four and a kitchen counter pushed up against the wall. A half-wall divided it from their dining room, which was considerably more spacious, but this nook has always been Harry's favorite area in the house. He reverently skids his hand over the small, colorful mosaic arrangement on the table as he takes in the warm sunlight streaming through the window above the counter, bathing their mugs, kitchen appliances, and homely knick knacks in a soft yellow glow. He smiles involuntarily at the old bird clock hanging on the wall perpendicular to the window; it was a curious, hand-carved vintage thing, a gift from he and Louis to his mum when they earned their first paychecks down at the bakery. They gifted Louis' mum with an identical one, too.

"Harry." His mum snaps him out of his reverie. She is looking at him with a soft smile on her face, and Harry returns it with a bright grin of his own. In the five days he's been back at the place he spent most of his life in, this is the first time he felt truly welcome.

"Are you alright, love? How are you?" she asks. "You were spaced out for a moment there."

Harry chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm just - just taking it all in. I've missed this place."

"Well, it has missed you too. We _all_ have. Robin isn't here, though, and Gemma's at Birmingham with little Eric," Anne supplies.

Without warning, another twinge of guilt blooms in Harry's chest. He's never even met his nephew, never called Gemma to congratulate her for her baby when his mum had texted him the news. All he sent was one, short text: _Congratulations, Gemma! Let me know if there's anything else you need for the baby, I'll send it right over._ As if he weren't Eric's uncle, as if he were just one of Gemma's many acquaintances who could barely be bothered to find a gift all by himself.

Anne must have seen the guilt on his face, because she rests a hand on his and says, "We can visit them soon, if you'd like."

"That would be wonderful, mum." His eyes are filling with tears yet again. _Christ, what a drama queen this short trip has made you, Harry._ He can almost hear Matt's voice in his ear, teasing him for being so dramatic.

He clears his throat. "Mum, I wanted to tell you. I - I'm engaged. His name is Matt."

"Yes, I know, love, congratulations. I saw it in the papers around three months ago," Anne replies, and at the broken look on Harry's face, she adds, "Oh, Harry, please stop feeling guilty. These past five years have been hard on all of us, especially-" Then, she hesitates for a second, and Harry already knows what she is about to say before she says it. "Does Louis know you're here?"

Harry's grip around his mug tightens as he nods slowly. "Yeah, I came here to get Nana's ring back from him, actually."

Anne crosses her arms over her chest, exaggeratedly pouting her lips. "Not to see your poor, lonely mother, then?" 

Harry barks out a laugh, the tension from his shoulders easing. He knows where he gets his bouts of melodrama from. " _Mum_ , of course I came to see you, too. You're ridiculous," he blurts out, and he tenses up a little once more, worried that he has come off as insensitive, telling his own mother that she's ridiculous for being affronted that she wasn't his priority visit when he was the one who left.

But Anne just waves her hand as she laughs goodnaturedly. "I know, I know." A fond smile graces her lips. "Did you get it back?"

Harry tells her about his visit to Louis' place last Monday - "You have been here since _Monday_ and you decide to drop by four days later? I have raised a rude, ungrateful son," Anne quipped jokingly - and how Louis had quite literally closed the door on him getting his ring back. He explains he had just come from Louis' house just now, and how Louis hadn't answered the door, when he catches a sheepish look on his mother's face.

"Why do you have that look on your face?" Harry asks, slightly confused and a tad suspicious.

Anne pats his hand, looking slightly apologetic. "Love, I know how much that ring means to you, and I honestly still believed you would come back to us." She smiles, a bit tentatively. "I told Louis he could keep the ring."

Harry fights back the urge to groan and put his head in his hands. He doesn't believe he gets to whine about this, about _anything_ , any time soon. Instead, he just asks in a strained voice, "What? Why?"

Before Anne could answer, they hear the front door swing open and shut closed, and the rustle of a coat being shrugged off. Anne gets up, ambling towards the doorway, calling out, "Robin, is that you, dear? You'll never believe who's here!"

Harry turns in his seat, and immediately he can feel himself tense up again as he lays his eyes on Louis.

Louis is toeing his shoes off, so he hasn't seen Harry yet, and Harry fights the sudden urge to either hide or flee.

"Anne, there's a random car parked in front of the house, d'you want me to call the police-" Then Louis stops dead in his tracks when his eyes meet Harry's.

A wide range of emotions flicker through Louis' eyes so quickly that Harry can't quite pinpoint any of them, until they settle into disbelief and quiet rage. The familiar way Louis held himself as he first entered through Anne's door has completely disappeared; he looks tense, probably as tense as Harry feels, as they hold each other's gazes from across the short hallway, daring the other to look away. Harry can feel himself start to squirm under Louis' glare, discomfort clashing with the anger swirling in his chest, heat rising in his cheeks as he stares into the furious, challenging blue. 

Harry ends up breaking their wordless stand-off, unable to bear it anymore. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he clenches his fist in annoyance. _Louis, always the proud lion._

Anne doesn't seem to notice the tension, or pretends that she doesn't - she's wrapping Louis in a big hug, much like how she did Harry awhile ago, and an ugly bolt of jealousy runs through Harry's body as he observes the comfortable way they interact, at the winning smile Louis directs at his mother. Harry feels incredibly out of place once more, in his own bloody childhood home.

A memory suddenly intrudes, unwelcome, into Harry's mind - it was their prom night, and both Louis and Harry were dressed to the nines, or whatever number is equivalent to rented tuxes. Harry had been grabbing a last cup of water to drink in the breakfast nook before they left when he heard bright laughter ringing from the hallway. He had glanced towards the sound, finding Louis and his mum standing close together, Anne with a fond look on her face as she pinched Louis' cheek. Louis had been smiling at her as well, the blue of his eyes a shade brighter.

It's like ghosts were coming back to haunt Harry in the worst times possible. _Well, karma's a bitch_ , he thinks to himself, willing the memory away. He and Louis are no longer inseparable, no longer stupidly in love with one another, no longer the teenagers that thought nothing could tear them apart.

And now, a thick ugly line divides them. _We were too young back then. Louis didn't want to let me go and live my life without him._

"... pastries from the bakery," Louis is saying, handing Anne a paper bag. "I stayed over at Liam's place in London last night, so he and I dropped by there on the way back."

_Liam? Who the hell is Liam?_

"You lovely boy, thank you," Anne says, patting Louis fondly on the cheek. Then, she turns towards Harry, and much to his horror she calls out, "Harry, could you please come get these and set them on the counter?"

Once more, his eyes meet Louis', and in them he sees the same challenging look. Harry refuses to back down this time. He stands up quickly and crosses over to them in the hallway, hoping he looks confident and nonchalant, and not bothered at all in any way. He takes the bag from Louis' hand, and their fingers briefly brush against each other, and all Harry wants to do is throw the stupid paper bag at Louis' dumb face-

"Will you be getting the cake for Robin's party this Sunday, Lou? I'm afraid I will be swamped in kitchen work the whole day." Anne's voice cuts through Harry's inner monologue.

"Robin's party? What are we celebrating?" he hears himself say, but then. Wait, Robin's birthday is on Sunday. Harry wants to slap himself for forgetting.

Louis looks at him with a cruel curl on his lips, and Harry wants to smack it right off his face. "You forgot about it? Oh, _right_ ," Louis says in a sarcastic drawl, bringing a finger up to his mouth mockingly. "You haven't been celebrating the past ones with us, so of course you wouldn't remember."

Harry feels a jolt of electricity light an angry fire inside of him at the snide comment. He opens his mouth, ready to spit back a scathing reply about how he's celebrated _plenty_ while he's been away, when Anne cuts in hurriedly.

"Yes, well, Harry will be celebrating with us, won't you, dear?" Anne shoots him a pointed look, and Harry deflates. Of course he will. "And he'll be staying here with us for the rest of his trip. Lord knows he owes us and this house some of his time."

There is no real bite to what his mum had just said, she even said it a little jokingly, but it still makes Harry flush with shame. He mumbles, "Of course," under his breath before he turns abruptly to escape into the breakfast nook. He sets the bag down on the table, willing his heart to stop racing a mile a minute when his phone rings in his pocket.

Grateful for the easy escape, he strides quickly towards the dining room and out into the back garden - the same dilapidated childrens' slide on the far right corner, the old tire swing hanging from the tree beside it, the lawn chairs haphazardly scattered along the left side against their tall wooden fence - as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. He finds his manager's face staring back at him, a goofy smile on his normally impassive face.

"Zayno," he says in greeting when he answers the call. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Isn't it incredibly late there?"

"Absurdly early, you mean," Zayn sounds a little out of sorts, but his voice still rings through clearly as it always does. "I'm just checking up on ya, H. How are you? How is the quest for the ring going? When are you bloody coming back?"

Harry snorts out a laugh. "Sorry, Z. I think I have to be here for another two weeks or so. Haven't gotten the ring back, m'afraid."

"See, I _told_ you that you needed someone to help you out," Zayn says in mock exasperation. "Could've had a proper Fellowship thing going on, what with the ring and all."

Harry laughs. For all that Zayn is probably one of the most gorgeous beings to ever grace the Earth, he could be such a real nerd. He tries to explain yet again to Zayn that it can't be like Lord of the Rings, because Frodo and Sam were trying to _destroy_ the One Ring while Harry was trying to get his _back_. Maybe he was a nerd too, Harry thinks to himself.

"Well, you're Bilbo, then. Completely obsessed with the ring. Or Gollum. Definitely Gollum. You have that look about ya," Zayn says, laughter ringing through the phone. He imitates Gollum's famous "my precious" line, and Harry giggles through his fingers.

"Okay, but back to business," Zayn says, and Harry tries to stifle his laughter, but to no avail. "Oi! Serious now." Harry can still hear the smile in Zayn's voice when he says it.

"Alright, alright, I'm serious."

"So when the boss asks when you'll be coming back, I'll say you need two more weeks. To get your songs done with your producer. Speaking of," Zayn adds, "are you sure about this J-Grace? He's quite the enigma in the music industry, so we don't know much about him, but if you really want to work with him-"

"Yes, Zayn, please, that is my only request," Harry says, almost pleading. "It will be a dream to have at least one of his songs on my album."

"Alright, H, stop gagging for it, you're engaged," Zayn quips, and Harry laughs yet again. “I’ll let you know once we’ve contacted him.”

“Or her,” Harry says in a singsong voice, and he can almost hear Zayn rolling his eyes through the phone.

When they eventually hang up, Harry feels like he's in a much better mood. And when he enters his home, he sees that Louis is nowhere to be found. _Even better. I can finally relax._

¤

On Sunday night, the usually quiet, peaceful aura in Anne's house comes alive with homely festivities as they celebrate Robin's birthday. Decorations are strewn all over the walls, and the smell of pies wafts through the air like a soft, comforting blanket. Though it's only a small gathering of 20 people or so, the house seems full, guests milling about happily in the back garden. Tufts of smoke rise into the crisp night air from where one of Harry's older cousins is grilling up different varieties of meat and fish. 80s music plays from the beaten up speakers sitting right next to the sliding door.

Louis is leaning against the doorway, oblivious to the festive air, as he watches Harry weave through the guests through narrowed eyes.

In the back of his mind, he realizes that he probably looks creepy, even downright murderous. But the moment Louis had arrived and it was Harry who answered the door, and Louis saw the smile on his lips fall into a tense, straight line, Louis has been on edge. Mostly because Harry seems to be getting along with everyone splendidly.

 _It's not fair._ Louis takes a sip of his beer as he watches Harry throw his head back in a loud, barking laugh talking to one of Anne's friends, looking like he's absolutely enjoying himself. He has been the life of the party from the beginning, his family immediately accepting his presence, as if he were here all along for those five miserable years. He took his place back in their lives, slipping back in so easily, and it wasn't fair at all.

And Louis couldn't even relax his nerves with alcohol; Anne's got him on a strict alcohol cut-off. "No more than three beers, love!" she called out to him from the kitchen as he entered the house, side-stepping Harry with just a curt nod to his direction. He supposes he should be grateful to her for continuously looking out for him.

He sighs, picking at the sticker on his second beer bottle. _Yes, Louis, you should be eternally grateful to that woman. Don't reel her into all your Harry issues._ He catches sight of Harry again as he picks up little Eric and starts to coo at his nephew, and Louis reckons that his beer bottle would probably shatter in his hands if he were to grip it any tighter.

It’s strange to see him back here, maddeningly so. Harry had disappeared from their lives so effectively that Louis had thought he would never have to, so he isn’t prepared for the millions of flashbacks that assault his brain. As Harry jokingly tries to fit Eric into the tire swing while Gemma swats at him, Louis can’t stop picturing all those moments he and Harry had laid under that tree at night, cuddled up so close there wasn’t a blade of grass in between their bodies. One time, he remembers watching Harry as he looked up at the stars, barely listening to him talk about constellations or some shit. Harry had caught him looking, and graced Louis with a bemused smile. _Are the stars not interesting enough for you? They’re bright tonight,_ he had said, and Louis answered with, _You’re still so much brighter, love._

Louis grits his teeth. _Fuck this. Fuck_ him.

He gets so engrossed with glaring at the back of Harry's stupid, famous, curly-headed mug that he jumps a mile off the ground when a hand clamps on his shoulder.

“Jesus, Lou, you’re way too tense,” Liam says with a short laugh as he appears behind Louis. Louis relaxes; finally, here’s someone he can talk to that isn’t obsessed with Harry being here.

“You’ve finally showed up, thank God,” Louis says, giving him a hug. “Gonna need you here all night, by the looks of it.”

He sees Liam’s eyes flicker over Louis’ shoulder to the garden party, from where Louis hears that stupid, goddamn bark of laughter yet again. “Is that him?” Without looking back, Louis nods, and Liam hums. “He’s shorter than the paps make him look.”

Louis snorts, amused, then he makes eye contact with Liam and bursts into laughter. This feels good, better. There’s still that bitter ache in Louis’ chest brought about by Harry’s presence, but being with Liam calms his nerves down a little bit. They’ve been friends, and colleagues, for only four years, but Louis is yet to find a more reliable friend.

He and Liam make small talk for a while, discussing work affairs as well, but Louis is distracted. He tries to concentrate on the conversation - _the client will be rescheduling for this Tuesday, and bloody early in the morning too_ \- but his eyes still keep flicking back towards where Harry is. He is currently sitting at one of the tables, chatting it up with the bloke who moved in across the street from Anne’s house three years ago. Daniel. Or Damon? Louis can’t seem to remember, even if he works with Niall as a bartender at Robin’s pub. A bit of a wanker, to be honest.

Daniel/Damon laughs a little too loud at something Harry says, and not-so-subtly puts a hand on Harry’s bicep, lingering a little before pulling his hand back. Louis almost has a brain aneurysm trying not to roll his eyes. _Typical. Everyone_ loves _someone famous._

“Hey, Louis.” Liam’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Louis starts. He turns back to Liam, and he can’t bear to look at the worried expression in his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, mate, what were you saying?”

Liam sighs with a fond, mildly concerned expression. “Let’s not talk about work.” He hesitates, then says, “You know I’m on your side, right, Lou?”

Louis thanks the heavens yet again for blessing him with a friend like Liam. He looks down at his shifting feet, overwhelmed with emotion. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Thanks, mate,” he says, almost shy. “It’s just - so unfair, do you know what I mean? He’s here, and talking to everyone, having fun with the exact same people he left five years ago, and I-” Louis stops talking, unwilling to finish that sentence, afraid of what might come out.

Liam just nods, and Louis doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend as understanding and open as Liam is. “Yeah, of course, of course.” They stand there silently for a second, ABBA blaring from the speakers. _I was so afraid, Fernando. We were young and full of life and none of us prepared to die…_

“I don’t think I’m ready to forgive him just yet,” Louis says abruptly. He feels naked all of a sudden, vulnerable under Liam’s silent gaze. “Is that… is that dumb?”

At that, Liam puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. “Of course not, Lou. He may have apologized to his family, but he hasn’t apologized to you.” Louis meets his eyes, and he can feel tears start to sting behind his. He hasn’t had enough alcohol for this.

“And the nerve of him,” Liam continues, “coming to your house _completely_ unannounced. Who knows what you would have done if I hadn’t told you that I spotted him in town last Friday.”

Louis relishes in Liam’s annoyed tone, a tiny nugget of satisfaction blooming in his chest at knowing someone else understands how shitty it is for Harry to come back here like nothing happened, like he hadn’t killed their relationship and left Louis to grieve all by himself.

At that moment, they hear people barreling through the front door - a distinct, Irish voice blares through the house with two, tiny voices giggling earnestly. Niall appears at the dining room a few seconds later, accompanied by Louis’ baby twin siblings Ernest and Doris. The tension Louis feels completely disappears when he sees them. Momentarily forgetting Harry, a huge smile graces his lips as he squats in front of them and scoops them up in his arms.

“Ernest, Doris, my loves!” Louis says fondly, kissing the both of them at the top of their heads. “How was Uncle Niall today? Did he leave you all alone in the car again?”

“Oi, they were fine when I came back,” Niall counters, wagging a finger at Louis. “I am an _excellent_ babysitter.”

“He gave us a lot of ice cream,” Ernest says gleefully, bouncing up and down on his heels.

“Did he now?” Louis raises an eyebrow at Niall. “And what did Lottie have to say about that?”

“Sod off, she doesn’t need to know,” Niall says, waving a hand in front of him.

“You’re a _horrible_ babysitter,” Louis teases, when he feels Doris tug at his cheek.

“Louis, we want to go to _your_ house next time, please?” she says, her lower lip jutting out adorably in a small pout.

A wave of love and fondness washes over Louis. He smiles at her. Her blue eyes are exactly the same color as mum’s were. “Of course, love, we’ll play around with your instruments at the house again. Would you like that?”

Ernest and Doris let out small cheers, raising their fists in victory only children feel when they get what they want. Since Louis ran into his… problems with alcohol again, he knows Lottie hasn’t fully trusted him with babysitting duties until there’s absolutely no one else, and he can’t really blame her.

“Can I trust you with them tonight, Lou?” Niall asks, suddenly with a beer bottle in his hand. He must have gotten it from the kitchen as Louis talked to his siblings.

And of course he can, Louis is on a strict three-drink limit tonight. And he will die before he ever allows himself to get sloshed while the twins are around.

¤

Harry can't quite pinpoint the feeling that bubbles up in his chest when he sees Louis with his arms around two children he's never seen before. All he knows is it's not the most pleasant feeling in the world.

 _Who are these children? Are they Louis'? Does Louis have a partner too? Is that the Liam he and Anne were talking about?_ Harry sees that, like Louis, the kids have the same blue eyes, the same dusty caramel hair, the same wide smiles that bring crinkles to the sides of their eyes. Harry then flicks his gaze toward the tall, young, attractive brown-haired man who is fondly watching Louis interact with the two children. The unfamiliar feeling flares up tenfold.

Before he can give more thought to it, he feels someone tap on his shoulder. He jumps and turns around, finding his mum standing there. She's all bright eyes and flushed cheeks, obviously enjoying the party. Harry can't help but smile at her apparent joy. He misses seeing her like this.

"Harry, dear, you remember Portia," Anne says, motioning over to the stately woman standing beside her.

"Of course, of course," Harry says, switching back immediately to charming party guest mode. He stands from his chair and gathers Portia's hands in his. "It's wonderful to see you again, Portia, you have not aged a day."

Portia laughs. "Ever the charmer. No wonder you became famous so quickly." She smiles at him fondly as she pats at his cheek, and Harry recalls all those times in his childhood when his mum had to be away and Portia had to step in as a babysitter for him and Gemma, patting his cheek the exact same way she just did. "Congratulations on your career, I'm very proud of you, dear."

Harry thanks her graciously, and Anne and Portia continue to talk about Harry's music career as Harry politely listens, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times. He can't help but look over his shoulder, where he sees that Louis is now carrying the little girl in his arms and holding the little boy by the hand. He leads them to a table where all the kids are as he chats animatedly with Niall and the brown-haired guy. Harry inwardly sighs; he hasn't talked to Niall yet either. He'll have to find time to apologize to his childhood friend later.

Apparently, Harry isn't so subtle because Portia and Anne follow Harry's gaze. "Oh, poor things. It's a good thing they have many older siblings to take care of them," Portia says in a sad tone. Anne nods solemnly, humming in agreement.

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, turning back to them.

"Ernest and Doris, love. They're lucky to have Louis as a big brother," Portia says, and something like relief blooms in Harry's chest. _They're his siblings._ "That family has gone through so much, ever since they lost Jay and Fizzy… when was that? Two years ago?"

Harry's thoughts screech to a stop. _What?_

Anne sees the stricken look on Harry's face, and immediately places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "Oh, Harry," Anne says simply, turning her sad look onto him. Portia looks back and forth between them, and then realization dawns on her face. "Harry, you didn't know-?"

"Jay and Fizzy passed away?" Harry can hear the shock in his own voice. He hears a slight, high-pitched ringing in his ears as he tries to absorb this new information.

"Yes, dear, two years ago," Anne supplies, squeezing Harry's arm. "I didn't know how to tell you."

Harry turns his gaze back to Louis, who has propped Ernest and Doris up on two chairs. Louis makes a silly face at them, then pats both their heads before heading towards the house. There's a monster pounding on Harry's chest as he watches the two kids play about, and he suddenly feels like he can't breathe. Memories of Jay flood his mind, like the time she had welcomed Harry into their home the first time Louis ever invited him over, and the way her hugs felt almost as warm and comforting as his own mother's, and how she had helped him and Louis move into their house all those years ago. Tears prickle in his eyes and his chest constricts painfully as he recalls all those times he had pushed Fizzy on the swings at their school playground. _I wasn't there for them._

Bricks of guilt and sadness crash over him, and before he can think twice he excuses himself from the conversation and makes his way into the house, following Louis.

He doesn't find him anywhere inside, and he almost starts to turn back to rejoin the party when he spots a lone figure standing on the porch through the bay windows in the living room.

When Harry appears at the front door and closes it behind him softly, Louis looks up at him, a cigarette burning in between his fingers. He lets out a puff of smoke, and in the dim light of the front porch his cheekbones are accentuated, blue eyes somehow bluer in the dark night. _Ghosts of electricity howl in the bones of her face_ , Bob Dylan sings distantly in Harry's mind.

Louis looks away immediately, and Harry can see him tense up as he takes another drag of his cigarette.

"Still smoking, I see," Harry says, trying to buy time to come up with something to say. He doesn't know where to begin, doesn't know how to start the conversation. He feels astoundingly uncomfortable standing here, an incredible weight pressing down on his chest.

Louis does a sad little chuckle. "Yeah, couldn't bring myself to quit."

Harry remembers the time Louis had tried to quit right before he left for L.A., tried to quit for Harry, and how much more difficult it made their relationship. "Some things never change," Harry replies. He feels a bit disjointed from his own body, like the words are being said by someone else.

"Except you did."

The air around them gets impossibly thicker. Harry feels like he might choke.

"So what's up, Styles?" Louis says, killing the cigarette and placing it in the ashtray sat precariously on the porch railing. Louis turns to face him, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket. "Come to badger me about my ring again?"

" _Your_ ring?" Harry says before he can stop himself, annoyance prickling inside him. "It's a family ring. You aren't family."

"At this point, I believe I'm more Styles than you are," Louis says quietly, challengingly, his eyes boring straight into Harry's own.

Harry tamps down at his anger and disbelief. "I didn't come here to talk to you about the ring," he starts, and Louis raises an eyebrow, opening his mouth, probably to say something annoying again, and Harry rushes through his words before he gives Louis the chance to retort. "I came here to - I'm sorry about Jay, and about Fizzy. If I had known-" The words die in his throat. _I would have rushed here the second I could._ Harry squeezes his eyes shut, the ache in his chest turning more unbearable with each word. When he opens his eyes again, Louis is looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Harry takes a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Louis. For everything. _"_

It's the most honest, vulnerable thing he has said to Louis in five years. He refuses to tear his eyes away from Louis', hoping to communicate the guilt and heaviness in him. Louis stares straight back at him, unmoving, and Harry can't help but fidget under his gaze. He feels hot all over, trying to decipher Louis' stony, unreadable face.

But there's a tinge of softness in it, a _sadness_ , lurking just beneath the surface.

A moment of silence too long passes between them, and Louis still hasn't said anything. Harry sighs and turns on his heel, starting to regret his decision to talk to Louis when he hears Louis say softly, in an almost fragile voice, "Thank you."

Harry looks back at him, and with a start he sees Louis with an open expression on his face. His lips are pressed together, as if he's trying to repress something inside. He notices Louis' eyes are shining, glassy, as if he's on the verge of tears.

Harry panics, not knowing what to do with this, with _this_ Louis. He can take the insults, he can manage the hate thrown at him, but the vulnerable expression in Louis' face makes him suddenly want to put his arms around Louis and tell him that everything will be okay.

Harry's first instinct is to run away, bewildered at his own thoughts. Fighting it, he stays for a moment, only to say, "They were the loveliest people in the universe." Then, he disappears into the house again, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it for part 1! if you finished this chapter, you hold a special place in my heart.
> 
> here are some other charles bukowski quotes i thought of putting at the start of this chapter:
> 
> _Love breaks my bones  
>  and I laugh  
> — Fingernails, Nostrils, Shoelaces_
> 
> _A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover._  
>  — The People Look Like Flowers At Last
> 
> charles bukowski writing about love just HURTS. 
> 
> the ABBA song that plays in robin's birthday party is Fernando, while the Bob Dylan song that plays in Harry's head is Visions of Johanna. check those two out if you've got time, they are both so dear :)
> 
> next up will be the longest part in this 4-part story. this is gonna be a torturous slow burn, for you and me. please let me know if you liked it! and follow me on twt if you want @dattomlinsonbum (main fan acct) and @sweetpotato_me (larry fics acct). thank you for sticking with it, larries are the best x


	2. The Long Way to Come Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! really really tried my best to upload this asap! uni is hard work, as i'm sure some of you know. anyway, enjoy this chapter; this work remains very close to my heart x and a happy belated sept 28 to everyone!!!

_Stop insisting on  
_ _clearing your head—  
_ _clear your fucking  
_ _heart Instead.”_

_— Selected Letters Vol. 4 (1987-1994); Charles Bukowski_

¤

Louis hates to admit it, but he feels his anger towards Harry slowly dissipating as the days go by.

It's been a whole week since Robin's birthday, and Louis thinks it may partly be because Harry hasn't asked him for the ring again, not once. He's seen Harry countless times in the week when he drops by to visit Anne, and his brain confuses itself when it doesn't ring alarm bells in his head anymore when he sees him.

When he watches Harry talking animatedly with Anne at the breakfast nook, all sleepy, mussed comfort, eyes still bleary from the morning, Louis doesn't feel the primal urge to push him out of the house anymore. Moreover, he feels especially disjointed when he sees how good Harry is with the twins. Anne was supposed to be babysitting, so Louis could only stand dumbfoundedly when he saw Harry and the twins in the living room, laughter ringing loudly and toys strewn around them, with both kids riding on Harry's back like he was a horse. The childishly gleeful look on Harry's face when he saw Louis watching from the doorway had melted into a soft, tentative smile.

And of course, Louis can't forget that night from exactly a week ago. _I'm so sorry, Louis. For everything. They were the loveliest people in the universe._ Louis remembers staying out on the porch for a good ten minutes after Harry had gone back into the house, lighting another cigarette. He remembers replaying the scene in his head, over and over again, his thoughts crowded with Harry's sincere eyes and trembling voice. _I'm so sorry, Louis._ And now, almost unbidden, the image of Harry sitting with his siblings on the white carpet intrudes, filling him with a strange warmth.

 _A truce._ Louis feels a weird calm wash over him as he pulls up next to Anne's house. Yeah, he guesses he could do a truce. Dusty sits at the passenger seat, eyeing him almost accusatory. He chuckles as he kills the engine. "Anne misses you, love. Just ten minutes with her and you can go off and kill some more rats for me, alright?" He scratches behind her ear, and she leans into his touch, purring.

Anne answers the door, and lets out a cry of happiness when she sees Dusty in Louis' arms. "Dusty, my baby! Where have you been?" she coos, scooping her up and smoothing her hand over her back. Dusty cuddles closer into Anne, her gray fur camouflaging almost completely against Anne's gray shirt.

"Thanks for bringing her home, love," Anne says to Louis, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Join us for breakfast?"

Louis shifts uncomfortably, unsure whether or not he's ready to try and survive a meal with Harry. They're in a truce, not _friends_. Louis almost wrinkles his nose at that thought. "Um. I'm not - I don't know if that's a good idea-" He tries to look past Anne's shoulder to see if Harry's at the table, but he doesn't see anyone there.

"Oh, stop being like that and just get in," she says, stepping aside and letting him in. "There's bacon and eggs."

He walks through the short hallway and enters the small space of the breakfast nook. Unseen from the front door, Harry's already sitting at the table, pressed up against the wall. He's talking to someone with a hushed voice on the phone, and when he sees Louis enter, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly, then he shoots him a small smile. Louis smiles back, a little uncertainly. He suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. Where should he sit? Beside Harry? _Dear God, no._ But across him? _Oh, that may be even worse._

It's decided for him when Anne pulls out the chair across from Harry. "Sit," she instructs, and Louis obeys. "A cuppa, love?"

Louis nods mutely. He peeks at Harry across from him, and he looks incredibly relaxed in this space, stretched out like a cat. His mind wanders to all the times he spent with Harry and his family at this very place, all the breakfasts and dinners, all the long conversations that wound through the night, all the homework-turned-snogging sessions he and Harry had when everybody else had gone to sleep.

Then Harry suddenly meets his gaze, and Louis immediately averts his eyes, feeling his face flush. He feels as if he was just caught red-handed doing something he shouldn't have. He banishes all the thoughts in his head and stares straight at the mosaic tiles in the center of the table, counting them. He is suddenly all-too aware of how sober he is; he realizes with a start that he hadn't drunk the night before, that he hadn't actually drunk in three days - and that last drink was just one beer with Niall at Louis' place. His head feels clear, sharp, and he doesn't know yet if he's completely comfortable with the feeling.

"Okay, I love you, babe," he hears Harry say to the person on the other end. Louis continues to stare resolutely at the tiles. _Probably his fiancé. Matt?_ "I'll see you soon. Sleep tight."

When Harry hangs up the phone, he leans forward and crosses his arms over the table. Louis stares, trying to fumble for something to say. Should he even say anything? A beat of silence passes between them, before Harry turns his gaze upwards and meets Louis' eyes with his own. There's still a guarded expression in the usually open green, but now, it's not really angry - it's more hesitant, searching.

Harry opens his mouth to say something just as Louis half-shouts, "Anne, do you need help with anything?" He startles even himself at the pitch his voice has taken, higher than usual. He resolutely keeps his eyes averted from Harry's, incredibly uncomfortable with what he sees in them. It's making him jumpy, rabbity, like his heart is trying to speed through a clunky racetrack.

Anne looks at him strangely from over her shoulder before she says, "It's okay, love, I've got it."

Thankfully, Anne sets down their plates and mugs in seconds, and Louis can feel his lungs fill with air again as he relaxes. He digs into his food immediately, hoping to finish breakfast as soon as possible so he could escape the strangeness of this morning.

He can feel Harry's eyes burning holes at his ducked head, and it takes all the strength Louis has in him not to look up or stab his bacon too hard.

"So, Harry, how's Matt doing?" Anne says, as if there isn't a heavy blanket of tension, or whatever this is, suffocating Louis.

"Great, he's great." Harry's low voice sounds raspy from sleep. "He's got a concert with the band tomorrow night in New York."

"Oh? Tell me about his band, dear," Anne says.

Louis feels like he could die right on the spot as Harry starts to talk about Matt's indie band Seven Sparrows - "which is weird, because they're not seven in the band, they're six!" - and about the kind of music they make. Harry's going on and on about how the band almost won a Grammy last year when Louis unconsciously starts to lose track of his words, and focuses only on Harry's voice. It's still so deep, so slow, and it still takes Harry about a whole year to get a sentence out. But it also has a rougher edge to it, not just from sleep, but from maturity, evident in the music he's released over the past years.

Louis knows; his job requires him to listen to all the music in the world. You can't call yourself a music producer if you don't do your research. Louis remembers the first time he listened to one of Harry's songs - it was a year after Harry had left, his first single, and the pain had still been fresh, wound gaping in Louis' metaphorical chest. _Sign of the Times_ , it's called. _We gotta get away from here,_ Harry sang. Louis had drunk himself to death that night, and he was later rushed to the emergency room by Liam because his breathing had slowed down so bad that Liam initially thought he had found him dead.

Louis is pulled back to the present when a phone starts ringing loudly. Anne looks at the both of them apologetically, saying, "It's Robin, I have to take this," then she stands up and exits the room, leaving Louis and Harry all alone.

Instantly, the weight of the tension blanket above increases, bearing down on the both of them. Louis knows Harry is also avoiding looking at him, he can _feel_ it. Louis grabs his cuppa of Yorkshire tea and takes a big gulp, hoping it would calm his nerves. It doesn't do much of anything. Louis scowls at his tea, mentally scolding it for not doing its one job when it mattered.

Harry clears his throat in front of him, and Louis breathes in before he slowly looks up. Harry is looking at him cautiously, as if with one word he expects Louis to run away. He's not exactly wrong. 

"So, Louis…" Harry starts, his words rolling off his mouth as if they had all the time in the world. Louis tries not to stare at that stupid, perpetually red mouth. He is semi-successful. "About Matt, I - I hate to bring this up again, but is it possible for me to get my ring back?"

Louis stares at him wordlessly, feeling himself close off yet again. The awkward feeling that has been looming over Louis' head disappears, replaced by something bigger, angrier, more primal, heart-wrenchingly familiar. Harry just continues, seemingly oblivious to the storm beginning to brew inside Louis' stomach. 

"It's just that my manager has been calling me incessantly asking when I can be back, and my fiancé Matt really just wants me home already, but I can't go back without that ring. It's important - I mean, _you_ know," Harry says, shooting him a meaningful look. He grasps his own hands together in front of him on the table, looking as if he's in a business meeting, a negotiation. Louis feels sick to the stomach at that thought.

"I know what?" Louis' voice is icy, cutting. It throws Harry off guard, and he tries to school his expression back into a neutral face, but it's too late - Louis sees the confusion in Harry's eyes, and relishes in his discomfort.

"You know how… how important it is. What it means. I need it to be with someone I love, with Matt, and not with-" Harry cuts himself off, but he doesn't need to, because Louis knows the words that would have followed.

_Not with you._

White-hot fury overcomes Louis at that moment. Before he knows it, he's standing up, the legs of his chair screeching against the wooden floorboards. "Say it, Harry. 'Not with me', right? What's the problem? Why can't you say the fucking words? You certainly showed it when you abandoned everything five years ago."

Harry stares at him momentarily with a shocked, confused expression, which quickly turns into one of anger and exasperation. "Jesus, Louis, when the hell are you going to move on? You've always been such a petty prick-"

Louis cannot believe Harry just said that. "Oh fuck you. _Fuck_ you. You're now so used to getting what you want, with all your goddamn fame," Louis almost shouts at him. He's not even sure of what he's saying anymore; his angry words tumble out of him and lashes unapologetically at Harry, as if they've been waiting for years to be let free. "Well, now I'm not giving you what you want. I hope the awards and the recognition are worth your grandmother's ring. _That's_ the price you're paying."

"Christ, what is going on in here?" Anne reenters the space, glancing between the two boys in alarm.

"I was just leaving," Louis says through gritted teeth. He refuses to look away from Harry, refuses to give him the satisfaction of coming out on top, because in the past five years Harry had always come out on top. It's Louis' turn now. "Thank you for breakfast, Anne. Have a nice day. And Harry," Louis says, venom in his voice, "Do us all a favor and leave."

Louis storms out of the house, little Dusty trailing at his heels, leaving Harry alone at the table to stew in his words.

¤

Harry does stew in Louis' words, and it's for the rest of the day. He's doing a bit of gardening out front, helping his mum revitalize the dying assortment of plants, but being occupied with this does nothing to help shovel out the jumble of thoughts in his brain.

_That's the price you're paying._

Louis' vicious, cutting voice replays over and over in Harry's head as he bends down to inspect a row of dying hydrangeas. Those five words threw him out of sorts, and it still is, because he's paid for everything he's done already. 

Right?

Except… maybe he hasn't. Not in Louis' eyes, anyway. Everyone else has been so nice to him, so accepting; he remembers how his heart had thundered last week when he first stepped out into the back garden to greet the party guests, and how the nervousness slowly seeped away and transformed into relief as his family and old friends accepted his presence back into their lives so easily. He even had the chance to talk to Niall towards the end of the party, and though Niall seemed a little awkward at first, conversation came back easy to them, reminiscent of their countless long talks in that very garden all those years ago.

But Louis… Louis obviously hasn't accepted him back yet. Harry completely and horribly misjudged Louis' small, hesitant smiles and tentative glances; misjudged the gradually relaxing tension between them.

And just like that, they're back to square one. Harry can't bring himself to be angry at Louis for still holding back; maybe Harry does deserve this strange punishment Louis is inflicting on him.

Even if he's been immensely enjoying his time back with his family, Harry aches for the warmth and openness of L.A., for the feeling of Matt's strong arms wrapped around him as they sleep in their bed. He misses the comfort of the home he shares with his fiancé, where he doesn't feel like he needs to tiptoe around anyone. He despises the unwelcome feeling that pierces through him whenever Louis glares at him in that infuriating challenging way, the one where Harry feels like Louis can see into the depths of his soul despite all the walls Harry has built all these years. As if, despite all the years and distance wedged in between them, Louis still _knows_ who he is, better than anyone else.

As he wipes sweat from his brow, Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials Matt's number. He desperately needs to feel Matt's presence again, to anchor him back to the ground.

"Babe?" Matt picks up after the fifth ring, sounding breathless.

"Hi," Harry says, knowing he sounds as sullen as he feels.

"Is everything okay?" Harry can hear rustling from the other end, and a faint voice of a man in the background.

"I just, I miss you. I'm so sorry, are you and the boys preparing for the concert?"

"Yeah, we are, but I've got time to talk." Harry hears a door shut from Matt's end, and the background noise immediately drifts away. "What's this about missing me, babe? We called just - um, this morning for you, right?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't miss you, can I?" Harry says with a smile. He's always been the clingy kind of partner.

Matt chuckles. "Well, the sooner you're back, the better. I miss you, too."

Harry bites his lip. With Louis being difficult about the ring, he might have to extend his trip. "Babe, I'm sorry, I might have to stay for another week. Or two."

"Enjoying your family time?" Matt says, a smile evident in his voice.

"Yeah, actually, I am. It's been absolutely lovely."

"You still haven't introduced me to your family," Matt whines, chuckling. "Should I be scared? Are they overly protective of you?"

Harry sorely wishes he could explain everything to Matt already, so that the heavy weight on his chest can just float away, but he doesn't want to, not just yet - not until he gets his ring back.

Harry promises he'll introduce Matt to Anne, Robin and Gemma soon, then listens to Matt talk about their setlist for a bit. After a few minutes of chatting and familiar banter that calms Harry down, they hang up, and Harry is left to stare again at the pitiful flowers wilting in front of him. The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the tiny dying petals.

When Anne appears at the front door holding a paper bag, Harry gets up and makes his way to her.

"I don't think your garden is salvageable, mum," Harry says in greeting. "Maybe it made God mad. They're beyond salvation now."

Anne laughs at his stupid joke, then hands him a brown paper bag. "Bring that world-famous wit somewhere else. Drop this off for Robin at the pub, would you?"

Anne gives Harry directions to The Twisty Pig, the pub Robin owns. Before Harry leaves, he plants a big kiss to his mum's cheek, and she promises him a wonderful dinner will be waiting for him as soon as he gets back. He's still smiling to himself in a moment of pure happiness as he starts his car and begins to drive away, humming to The Beatles on the radio.

Ten minutes later, he pulls up at the front of The Twisty Pig and Harry lets out a soft _ooh_ in pleasant surprise. He's impressed, to say the least - the pub is easily the biggest in town, and though Harry doesn't see many people inside through the big windows, he's sure the place fills up easily on the weekends.

He grabs a beanie from the glove compartment and shoves it over his wild curls. For a Sunday night, there are still a considerable number of people inside, and Harry's been enjoying this shred of anonymity more than he expected. He slides out of the car, Robin's dinner clutched in his hands.

The moment he steps inside the pub, his good mood is immediately soured. It's a beautiful pub, all dim lighting and warm wooden structures. A huge oval-shaped counter stands smack in the middle, and booths line up against the walls on either side. Clusters of tables and chairs are scattered here and there, and Harry can honestly see himself enjoying a pint here with Matt and his friends from America.

But the souring of his mood is caused by the sight of Louis sitting at the bar, chatting a bit too loudly at the bartender.

Harry spots a door behind the counter, and assumes it's the kitchen where Robin would be. As he makes his way towards it, he ducks his head, hoping to God Louis doesn't notice him. He needs rest from Louis' lightning bolt anger, from his sharp-as-knives insults, from his deep, raging blue eyes.

But Harry is not quite so lucky, because the bartender - Harry suddenly recognizes him as Daniel from Robin's party - spots him and breaks out in a wide smile. "Harry!"

Louis spins around to look at him, so fast he almost falls out of his chair, and Harry recognizes the dazed look in his eyes and the slight slack of his mouth. He's terribly shitfaced, Harry realizes, as an angry red flush creeps up Louis' neck and onto his cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Louis slurs, glaring at Harry through the strands of hair that have stuck to his forehead. He points an accusatory finger at him, beer bottle clutched precariously in his hand. "I thought I told you to leave."

" _Louis,_ " Daniel says, elbowing him, but Harry isn't paying attention. Again, Harry feels sick to the stomach with anger, shame, and something else he can't quite place. He completely ignores Louis and directs a tight smile to Daniel, feeling the pressing urge to flee as soon as possible. "Hi, Dan. I've brought Robin's dinner, could you hand it to him?" He moves to set the paper bag on the counter, but Louis suddenly swats at him, hitting the paper bag hard. Harry very nearly drops it.

"Oi, you look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Louis says, louder this time. Harry can hear hushed whispers begin around him, and over Daniel's shoulder he can see a girl bring out her phone and hold it up, pointed towards them. Harry groans inwardly.

"Louis, calm down, this is not the time-"

“Don’t tell me what to fuckin’ do, ya wanker,” Louis says, glowering, his accent slurring around his words. He snaps his fingers three times, trying to go for a sassy tone, and Harry would have laughed at this drunk attempt if it were five years ago. Now, though, all he wants to do is sprint out of the door. Or maybe punch Louis in the face first.

Instead, Harry heaves out a big sigh and turns on his heel to leave, his jaw set, until he hears Louis laugh cruelly behind him. “Oh, well, _that’s_ a familiar sight.”

Though the pub is still full of hushed whispers, Louis’ icy voice cuts straight through the air. Hot, burning anger festers inside Harry’s chest as he stops in his tracks. When he looks over his shoulder, Louis is leering at him, having gotten off his seat. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, and there’s nothing but vicious spite in his eyes.

“What? You’re just gonna stand there like some mute prick? To be fair,” Louis continues, anger oozing out of him Harry almost sees it, “s’not that different from the last five years. Not a fuckin’ word from you, nothing at all. Has your mum forgiven you yet? Not a peep from her son for _five_ years, and everybody _still_ fuckin’ loves you, the whole _world_ loves you, what a fuckin’ joke-”

“You know what, Louis?” Harry interrupts, his voice dropping an octave lower, fists balling in anger. “If I could, I would leave you all over again.”

His words come out unbidden, and at the back of his head he knows it’s a bad idea when he sees that the girl is still filming, but everything is starting to boil over until the only thing he can focus on are the flames inside threatening to combust.

“Oh, _poor_ me, Harry Styles is leaving me again!” Louis says in a high-pitched, mocking voice, clasping his hands together and pouting exaggeratedly. “Oh, _please_ don’t leave me, I can’t bear it!” He throws his arms out wide all of a sudden, knocking two beer bottles from the bartop to the ground. The crashes are painfully loud when they hit the floor, shattering into pieces against the wood.

“ _All right_ , that’s enough,” Daniel says loudly, stepping out from behind the counter. “Out, both of you.”

“Well, Harry was just leaving-”

“ _Out_ , Jesus Christ, Louis. Stop making a fucking scene,” Daniel says, and then he’s grabbing both Louis and Harry by the elbow and dragging the both of them outside.

When the door shuts loudly behind them, Louis starts shouting again. Harry tries to ignore him, walking away quickly to where his car is parked, but Louis’ angry words are loud and brash in the dead silence of the night. Louis is following him, his footsteps heavy and uneven, slurred voice making Harry’s head begin to throb.

“You fuckin’ listen to me, Harry, you _fuckin’_ prick, you are the worst fuckin’ human on this earth. You don’t deserve your family, do you know how fuckin’ depressed they were when you left? Of course you fuckin’ don’t, you weren’t _here_ , you never were, you worthless, lumbering piece of _shit_ ! Shit should be fuckin’ ashamed of you, _that’s_ how horrible you are-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Harry spins on his heels and shouts, finally exploding. His angry stare zeroes in on Louis’ equally furious eyes, when suddenly Louis’ face drops like he’s been pulled down violently. Harry realizes that Louis has doubled over and is retching right there in the grass, his body wracking in spasms as guttural sobs erupt from his body.

Harry stands there wordlessly, watching Louis vomit on the ground. _I can’t fucking believe this_ , Harry thinks, exasperation mixing with the anger in his chest. He can’t fucking believe what he is about to do.

When Louis finishes retching and is kneeling on the ground, punching weakly at the soil and pitiful moans coming out of his lips, Harry strides over to him and pulls him up by the shoulders, heading for his car.

Immediately, Louis begins to struggle against him, but his drunken swings are no match for a completely sober, rigid Harry. “Don’t _fuckin’_ touch me, you dick, gerrof me-”

“Shut the fuck up, Louis.” This time, Harry says it more quietly as he opens the car door to the backseat and struggles to shove Louis inside. “Just get the fuck _in_ , you twat-” The smell of vomit reeks heavily off of Louis as Harry tries to wrangle the seatbelt around his flailing body. Finally, he is able to shut the car door, and he can still hear Louis shouting at him from inside the car, voice muffled.

Louis is _still_ shouting at him when Harry settles in the drivers’ seat. Louis continues to scream profanities as Harry locks the car doors and starts the engine. Harry has a death grip on the wheel when he begins to drive, Louis’ shouts already beginning to sound like white noise.

Eventually, after about two minutes, he hears Louis slump noisily against his seat at the back, going completely silent save for his noisy, heaving breaths. Harry looks at him from the rearview mirror; Louis is leaning back against the seat, head turned up to the roof of the car, eyebrows furrowed in pain. He belches loudly, wetly, groaning.

“Don’t you dare vomit in here,” Harry says, speeding up ever so slightly.

Louis completely ignores him. “Where are you taking me? Are you gonna murder me?”

Despite the heavy tension in the air, Harry finds himself chuckling darkly. _What the fuck am I doing?_ “I’m bringing you home. I can’t leave you crying in the grass in this state.”

“Don’t fuckin’ pity me, I _will_ hit you,” Louis says, but his eyes are still closed, and he is wincing from time to time.

“This is a rented car, so don’t puke,” Harry just says, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. His bones feel like lead and there’s a heaviness on his chest that makes him want to just curl up in bed, plug on his earphones and fall asleep to his _calm down_ playlist.

Louis stays (thankfully) silent in the backseat the rest of the drive to his house, mouth slack open and eyes remaining closed, looking like he got knocked out. Harry is relieved, since the throbbing in his head has almost reached the point of unbearable. When Harry sees Louis’ house appear at the end of the road, Louis suddenly speaks.

“Fuck, I hate that you’re fuckin’ here, Haz,” Louis slurs, clearly so out of it that Harry is sure he doesn’t realize that he just called Harry by his childhood nickname. “I hate it, but I can’t handle the thought of you leaving again.” They pull up to Louis’ house, and Harry’s grip around the wheel tightens. Louis just continues rambling. “Stupid _Matt_ , with his dumb indie-band stubbled _face_ , he doesn’t fuckin’ deserve your grandmother’s ring, Harry, you understand me?”

At that, Harry quickly gets out of the car and shuts the door behind him harder than necessary. He refuses to dwell on Louis’ words as he grabs Louis from the backseat and helps him out. Louis is nearly a dead weight, and as Harry drags him towards the front door, Louis tucks his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, moaning in misery. The overwhelming stench of alcohol, cigarettes and vomit mixed with Louis’ hot breath fanning against his collarbones are making Harry dizzy all of a sudden.

Harry struggles to fish Louis’ keys out of his pocket, keeping his mind carefully blank as Louis leans heavily against him. “You understand me, Harreh?” Louis says, as if time hasn’t passed since Harry dragged him from the car, as if he doesn’t know that Harry’s trying his darndest not to let his mind run off towards thoughts he isn’t ready to have.

Finally, he gets the door open, and when he pulls an incoherent Louis through the doorway, Harry realizes it’s the first time he’s been inside in five years. 

It's all the same. Harry’s breath catches as he takes in the beautiful grand piano right across the door a few paces away. The living room still sits to his right, moonlight filtering on the plush, stained furniture from the floor-to-ceiling window on the wall. The small box of a recording studio is at his left, and the kitchen/breakfast nook is pressed up to the corner of the house beside it. He wonders if the room behind the grand piano is still their formal dining room, with the large, wooden table for eight and an old couch from Louis’ childhood home pressed against the wall.

Harry is suddenly pulled out of his staring when Louis almost slips from his grip. He catches him just in time, and is caught off guard at the sudden closeness of their faces. Louis’ eyelashes flutter against his sharp cheekbones, his lips pink and shiny from spit. There’s a flush on Louis’ cheeks that would have sent Harry’s heart running a mile a minute if it were five years ago.

Louis then proceeds to belch loudly in his face. Harry grimaces, tightening his grip around Louis’ limp body as he stumbles towards the staircase sat behind the living room.

His heart flips up to his throat as he carries Louis up the stairs, noticing all their photos still in their places on the wall. He enters their - _Louis’_ bedroom, pointedly ignoring the other, smaller room just a little ways down the hallway.

Even the masters’ bedroom looks the same - the bed, the dresser, the mirror, the curtains, Louis’ ugly painting that Harry had insisted they hang up above their bed; every little detail overwhelms Harry so much he feels his knees go weak.

Gingerly, he sets Louis down on the bed, then grabs his legs and heaves them to rest on the mattress. He sits down beside Louis’ occasionally twitching body and pulls off Louis’ dirty trainers; Harry catches a whiff of his feet, and it’s unpleasant as he still apparently hasn’t gotten rid of his “no socks” philosophy. He brings his gaze back up to Louis’ face - his mouth is hanging wide open, snores starting to come out. He looks younger, innocent, as if he were 22 again and still very much in love. The moonlight creates long shadows around his bones. As he takes the folded blanket at the base of the bed and drapes it over Louis, Harry debates whether or not he should change Louis out of his vomit-wet clothes.

Louis hiccups in his sleep, startling Harry out of his thoughts. He flushes beet red and gets up quickly, basically almost running out of the door.

_Water. A glass of water. Just leave a glass of water out for Louis and get the hell out of here._

But as he’s filling up a glass of water from their dispenser - same glass, same dispenser - he notices a bundle of sheet music on the piano. As if his body was moving on its own accord, he walks over to check it out, curiosity getting the better of him. In the dim, moonlit room, he sees the title: _Too Young_. As Harry reads through the lyrics, his throat closes up and he immediately feels like it might be his turn to throw up.

 _I've been looking back a lot lately  
_ _Me and you is all I've ever known  
_ _It's hard to think you could ever hate me  
_ _But everything's feeling different now_

His heart is pounding loudly in his chest as he walks back up the stairs, unable to look at the pictures on the walls. He enters Louis' room once more and sets the glass of water on the bedside table. Louis is laying in bed, now curled up in a fetal position on the left side. _That was always his side of the bed._ He is snoring loudly, mouth wide open, looking so soft and warm and exactly like the Louis Harry had fallen in love with so many years ago.

Harry needs to get out. Quickly. He stumbles down the stairs and out the front door in a minute, remembering to lock it before he shuts the door. His hands are shaking as he stands there for a second. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, trying to steady himself.

_Did Louis write that song for me?_

He wills himself not to think that, but on the drive back home, it’s the only thing on his mind.As he climbs up the front steps of his childhood home, still feeling incredibly out of sorts from the events of the night, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He groans inwardly when he sees it’s Zayn calling him. He taps on the _accept_ button and brings the phone to his ear, ready for Zayn’s exasperated tirade about having to do some damage control about the video taken in The Twisty Pig posted by a young Cheshire local.

¤

Thursday afternoon, Louis exits his house and squints at the pale sun on the horizon. Autumn is soon to leave, and he can feel winter inching closer and closer, a chill soon to be settling in his bones. He hugs his jacket tighter around him as he makes his way to the car, lugging Ernest's child's keyboard and Doris' baby violin with him. He's on his way to Anne's house, where she had been babysitting, and they planned to play around and make some music - in the kids' case, noise - until dinnertime.

He deposits the instruments in the backseat, making sure they're secure before shutting the door and striding to the driver's seat. As he settles in, his phone rings in his pocket.

"Liam? I just saw you this morning," Louis says, starting up the car and turning the heat up. He leans back for a moment, waiting for the car to become a little warmer. "Is the studio okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, client's just being a real menace right now," Liam says in a hushed voice, indicating that the band they're working with, Naomi's Fire, is still there at their studio. "Did you really have to leave early?"

Louis sighs. "I'm so sorry, Liam, I promised the twins I'd spend the whole afternoon with them. Hang on, I'll put you on speaker," Louis says, before hitting the speaker button and setting his phone into a groove on the dashboard. "Can you hear me?" Liam whispers in assent. "Yeah, uh, I'm really sorry, Liam, I promise I'll stay with them in the next meeting while you take a day off. I just really have to spend the day with the kids."

Liam is silent on the other end for a beat. Louis starts to drive, humming a random tune that's been stuck in his head for days. "Is Harry gonna be there?" Liam eventually asks, voice tentative.

"Yup," Louis answers, unease starting to form in his chest. He had woken up last Monday afternoon with a terrible headache and a sticky shirt. He had been tucked in bed, and through bleary eyes he had seen a glass of water at his bedside table. All the memories of the night before then had come rushing back in bits and pieces - Louis and Harry's shouting match at the pub, Louis retching in the grass, and Harry eventually bringing him home. He had taken a long shower that afternoon, staring bleakly at his feet, the water doing nothing to wash away the embarrassment he felt. This must be some kind of world record for hitting an all-time low.

"Well… don't get wasted, I guess."

Louis snorts. "Yeah, sure, mate."

"Well, Lou, I'll let you know our progress with the band - Andre!"

Louis rolls his eyes. Andre, the bassist of the band, has been flirting with Louis since they began working together. Louis kept his head down and gritted his teeth through all of Andre's sickeningly obvious come-ons. He was a short, stocky brunette with greasy hair and a penchant for tank tops, and if he weren't so good at playing the bass, Louis probably would have pulled out of the project already.

"Is that Louis?" He hears Andre's eager, overly saccharine voice come through the speakers. "'Ello, love! Missing your bum today, 's not so much fun looking at Liam's."

"Ah, keeping it classy, Andre," Liam says, voice dripping with sarcasm, before he hangs up the phone, much to Louis' joy.

He makes the short drive up to Anne's house, and frowns in confusion when he sees the whole Styles-Twist family, along with the twins, standing outside on the front lawn. Harry's squatting down on the ground and has got the twins in his arms, facing away from the house. He's pointing at something in the grass, possibly a bug, and both twins are wide-eyed and clapping, smiles splitting both their faces. Harry had been like this, too, when Daisy and Phoebe were just wee toddlers; Louis' car jerks to a stop, Louis pressing on the brakes a little bit too hard as Harry laughs at something Ernest and Doris say.

As Louis gets out of the car, he fights every urge in his body to wrench them away from him. Harry looks up, catches Louis' stare, and gives him a small wave. His curls, secured not too well by a blue headscarf, are blown every which way by the cold wind. The twins don't take notice of Louis, enraptured by the mysterious bug in the grass.

Louis completely ignores Harry and walks up to Robin instead. He hopes that the warmth he feels creeping into his cheeks does not reflect into any reddening; he can't believe he let Harry see him like that. He barely remembers anything he said, let alone anything he did. Louis hopes to God he didn't somehow slap Harry in the ass. He mentally facepalms himself. It's happened before, to Niall - apparently, Louis gets over-enthusiastic about slapping his friends' bums once he reaches a certain point of shitfaced. Niall had called Louis up the morning after, complaining about how he couldn't sit properly anymore. Louis had laughed about it all day. With Harry, though, it would just be plain awkward.

Louis sees that Anne's up on the front porch, talking to a man in serious voices. Her eyebrows are furrowed with worry. When Robin sees Louis walking towards him, he opens his arms in greeting and gives Louis a brief half-hug.

"What's happening?" Louis asks, settling in beside Robin. He tries to ignore the fact that Harry and the twins are now walking over to them.

"Termites." Louis' eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Yup, all over the kitchen and the dining room. Must be the cold." Louis nods just as Harry and the twins come up to them.

"Go to your brother," he hears Harry say to them. Louis glances at their direction, his heart rate picking up when he sees the gentle smile Harry sends their way. Doris is tugging softly at Harry's curls, and Ernest is poking at the dimple in his cheek. It makes for such a sweet photo, and Louis feels like ants are crawling up all over his spine. Must be all this bug talk.

"Ernest, Doris, come over here, stop bothering Harry," Louis says, motioning for them to come over. They obey, both of them pressing quick kisses to Harry's jaw before running over to their big brother. Louis plants big kisses to both their foreheads when he hears Harry say, so softly Louis almost doesn't catch it, "It's no problem."

"Harry showed us a grasshopper!" Doris says in delight just as Anne makes her way towards them. Louis pats her head fondly, noting the way Harry stares down at his fidgeting pigeon-toed feet.

"It'll take a whole week, possibly more," Anne says miserably after she presses a quick kiss to Louis' cheek in greeting. "The termites have spread to the back porch."

"We could get a hotel?" Harry suggests to his family. "I could pay for it, no problem." Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes at that.

"No, no, that'll be too expensive," Robin says. "A motel, maybe? There's one just on the outskirts of town-"

"You could stay at mine," Louis says before he realizes it, his mouth running off, once more getting himself into a problem. _Shit, shit, any chance I didn't say that out loud?_

"Louis, are you sure?" Robin asks, and Louis tries not to pay attention to the fact that Anne is now darting her eyes between Louis and Harry. He refuses to even look at Harry now, unsure of how he'd react. "We really can just take the motel, it's totally fine-"

"No, no, please." _No, no, Louis, what the fuck?_ "This is me repaying you for the last million years."

"We wouldn't want to take up all your space, dear-"

"No, really, it's fine! I'd also love to have the twins around more. It gets lonely when I'm there all by myself." _Okay, what the fuck was that?_

"I could, um, just get a motel room for myself, then," Harry says slowly, and this time Louis looks at him. Harry has an unreadable expression on his face, his eyes boring into Louis' own. Louis flushes as he remembers the feeling of Harry's strong shoulders against the weight of his dead arm, Harry's hand clutching at his side, and the way Harry's curls had tickled his nose when he dragged Louis up the stairs.

If there's one thing Louis still has, it's his pride. _You sure about that?_ Louis shakes the thoughts out of his head, staring resolutely back at Harry. "The twins love you. You can sleep on the couch," Louis finds himself saying. He's really getting himself into deep shit.

It's decided - Anne and Robin will stay in the spare room, and Harry will make himself comfortable in the living room.

As Anne, Robin and Harry rush up to pack two weeks' worth of clothes and other belongings, Louis drives back to his house with the twins securely sat at the back. They're loud today, _ooh_ -ing and _aah_ -ing at the great big clouds rolling through the pale sky, but Louis is barely listening. What did he go and say that for? He wants to bang his stupid head against the steering wheel. Instead, he grips it tight, his knuckles turning white.

Can he really live in close proximity with Harry for almost two weeks? He can't even stand to be around him for ten minutes. How the hell is he going to get any work done, or have much-needed alone time? Louis groans, imagining the living situation already. Just thinking about Harry's constant presence like a shadow is driving Louis insane, sending a roiling shit-ton of _stuff_ in his stomach.

And does Harry even want to live with Louis, in the mess that he is? He winces as he recalls Harry setting him down in the bed last Sunday, a blurry memory of Harry pulling his shoes off as he sat at the foot of the bed; scarlet embarrassment spreads across Louis' face. Unease creeps into him faster and faster as he parks in his garage.

 _Stop overreacting, Louis, this is just as thanks to Anne and Robin. It's_ not _about Harry._

He repeats the last four words over and over in his head as he brings the kids inside the house, handing them their instruments. He watches them run up the stairs squealing excitedly, banging elbows together as they head up to Louis' room. "Oi, careful!" he calls out after them, a fond smile on his face as he jogs out to his garden. His storage room is around the back, where he keeps spare mattresses, pillows, and blankets, among other things.

He tries to ignore the boxes labelled "Harry" as he makes his first trip back and forth between the storage room, the living room and the spare bedroom, starting with the pillows. He realizes they're all a bit dusty, and that he'd have to clean up a bit.

Anne, Robin and Harry arrive just as Louis struggles to fit four thick quilts through the sliding glass doors. When Harry spots him, he rushes to Louis and takes half of the load, their arms brushing together. Louis feels dizzy at Harry's sudden proximity, at the way his fingers wrap around the plush blankets, but Harry pulls away all too quickly. Louis mumbles his thanks, but is sure Harry couldn't have heard it.

Anne and Robin head straight up to deposit the first of their bags in the spare room while Harry fetches their other bags from the car. Louis fixes up the pillows and quilts on the sofa, trying to look occupied before Harry comes back in. He doesn't know if he can take another stilted conversation with him.

To his dismay, Anne and Robin tell Louis that they'll drive back up to the house for their vacuum - "Yours does not work as it should, Louis" - and heads for the door just as Harry enters carrying three bags. They bid him goodbye, and Louis and Harry are left alone.

Harry strides over to the living room, and Louis jerkily walks away towards the grand piano. He doesn't notice Harry frowning at him as he takes his seat on the stool, tapping his leg nervously.

When Louis looks back at Harry, he finds him standing a bit awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Louis is suddenly hit full-force by a memory - it had been the morning after they first moved in 7 years ago. He had woken up alone in bed, and when he walked down the stairs calling for Harry, he found his boyfriend still in his pyjamas, standing in the middle of the living room, surveying their new home with the softest, happiest smile. He had leapt into Louis' arms, laughing in quiet exhilaration, the picture of pure contentment. _This is our home, Lou. For the rest of our lives._

Louis blinks, and he's back in the present, where Harry looks nothing like his memories dictate. He looks up when Louis gets off the chair, his shoulders hunched in, feet perpetually pigeon-toed. They lock eyes, and the air feels especially heavy around them as Louis sees something he can't quite pinpoint flicker in Harry's eyes.

Louis gulps, trying to push down the familiar ache spreading across his chest. He fumbles for something to say to cut through the thick air between them. "Uh, does the couch look okay to you?"

Harry breaks his gaze from Louis' eyes and scans the couch in front of him, chewing his lip. "Yeah, yeah, it looks great."

"Sure? Because I can get you an extra mattress from the back, and I can fit it into the spare bedroom on the floor, it'll just be a pretty tight fit-"

"Louis," Harry interrupts, a smile spreading across his face slowly. "The couch is fine. Thank you."

Louis nods, shutting his mouth, and he can feel his face flush. It seems like there's nothing else Louis can do other than to keep embarrassing himself in front of Harry.

At that moment, a combination of loud violin-screeching and piano-banging comes from the second floor, filling the house with unholy noise. Louis starts to chuckle, and he sees Harry's eyebrows shoot up. "What the hell is _that_?" Harry asks, sounding scandalized.

" _That_ is Ernest and Doris," Louis says, glancing at the staircase fondly. "Bought them instruments and kinda hoped they would learn how to play some music."

Harry looks aghast, but a smile is spreading across his face. It's making Louis want to run away from the pounding of his poor heart. "That isn't music," Harry says, laughing through his fingers.

Fortunately for Louis' poor heart, Anne and Robin walk in at that moment, carrying their vacuum in. Louis and Harry both rush to them to help, the cacophony of noise only growing louder around them.

"I take it the twins are playing!" Anne half-shouts over the "music", laughter in her voice.

Louis grins. "Hey, I still believe there's some talent there! Give them time!"

Anne shakes her head in laughter, and when Louis glances at Harry, he sees an open, bright smile, directed straight back at him, green eyes alight. Louis thinks he imagines the blush on Harry's cheeks when their eyes meet.

_Oh, god. Weird._

Nearly an hour later, as the sky outside begins to darken, everything is properly set up for the Styles-Twist family. Harry and Louis had struggled a little to get Anne and Robin's mattress up to the room; Louis didn't miss how Harry had stared at the boxes of his stuff laying on the floor of the storage room. They then had to vacuum up all the dust around; smart of Anne to bring her own, since Louis' was a joke of a machine.

After everything is finished, they all sit in the living room, resting their bodies. The air is beginning to cool down more around them, and Louis settles in the couch chair, sighing happily. He tries not to glance at Harry, who is stretching his obscenely long body on the other couch chair across the coffee table.

"Thank you so much, Louis," Anne says earnestly, settled into Robin's side with his arm thrown around her. "We're sorry we'll be taking too much of your space."

"It's no problem at all, promise," Louis says, waving a hand at her.

"Let us cook a great dinner tonight, okay? Harry and I can start right away." Anne looks over at Harry. "You brought over our food from the house, right, love?"

"Yes, mum, they're all in the kitchen," Harry replies, pointing his thumb behind him.

"Then, it's settled! Robin, you could make your famous roast chicken, I think we've got all the ingredients."

They all make their way to the kitchen, Louis careful not to walk too close to Harry. He still feels like his nerves are on fire around him.

"Oh, dear." Anne tuts as she rummages through the bags of produce. "We need carrots, peas and a whole lot of potatoes for the rest of the roast. Louis, Harry, could you please pass by the grocery and get some?"

Louis squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. _Now we're going to have to go on grocery runs together?_ It seems way too domestic, too much like their old life for Louis' comfort.

Louis glances at Harry to find him already looking at him, a sort of panicked look in his eyes. Louis relaxes a little, thankful he isn't the only one feeling awkward. Harry has bitten his lower lip pink, and Louis finds himself staring as Harry sucks it back into his mouth.

"Oh, quit dawdling there, you two," Anne says, and Louis flushes and quickly looks away from Harry. His heart is beating painfully loud in his ears. "It's been five years, grow up and get me my carrots."

"But the twins-"

"We'll keep an eye on them, Louis, now _go._ "

¤

The moment they stepped out of the house, Louis had insisted he would drive them to the grocery when he saw Harry heading to his rented car. "You don't know where any of the new places are, Styles. Let me drive," Louis had said a bit proudly, and Harry had bitten back a retort, knowing it wouldn't help anyway. Harry switches on the car radio instead, needing to fill in the still-awkward silence between them. He doesn't miss the way Louis huffs in annoyance, but he doesn't say anything either.

 _Good._ Harry settles deeper into his seat and folds his arms across his chest, staring resolutely out the window. He _knows_ he's pouting like a brat, but why did his mum have to make him get groceries with Louis? The awkward tension is pulling at his brain in every which way possible, and he's sure his mum has noticed. Honestly, who hasn’t? He remembers the small, encouraging smile Anne shot at him before they left. What was that all about? He doesn't know what to make of it.

The sky is dimming by the second, and the trees and houses they pass by are a blur of deep green, blue, and purple. Harry stares out the window and loses himself in the colors, allowing his mind to clear itself.

After a few minutes, a familiar tune starts to play on the radio. Harry perks up, and reaches to the controls to turn up the volume. He hums along to the pop melody, noticing a few seconds later that Louis is side-eyeing him with a mildly confused, amused expression.

" _Where Do Broken Hearts Go,_ " Harry supplies the title. "Love the song. The lyrics are lovely, actually, I'm obsessed with this songwriter." Harry knows he's rambling a bit, but he can't help it, not with music.

"You like J-Grace?" Louis' voice goes slightly higher, unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know his voice well.

"Yeah," Harry says, a little surprised Louis knows about them. "Yeah, 'course, everyone wants to work with them." Louis doesn't reply, and the song continues to play around them. Harry mouths the words until the very end, knowing it all by heart. _Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself, or are you giving it to someone else?_

The song ends (always) too soon for Harry's liking, and a Kings of Leon song is played next. Harry's mood is spiked; he loves a good Kings of Leon song like the next guy.

Louis cuts through his humming of Temple when he clears his throat. "Hey, uh. Thanks for Sunday," he says, a little tentatively. Harry looks at him, and Louis is keeping his eyes on the road, shadows dancing across his face. Harry can almost make out a slight red on his cheeks. "Niall usually brings me home, but it was a bit early in the night so he wasn't on a shift by the time I got - well, you know. So, yeah, um, thanks."

Harry's momentarily speechless, not expecting the thanks he just got. When Louis had ignored him a while ago at the front lawn of their house, his heart had undeniably sunk; he had hoped that the help he had offered to Louis would somehow mend whatever seams still hung loose in their relationship.

Sainsbury's appears at the distance, glowing sign bright against the ever-darkening sky. "Does that… happen a lot?" Harry eventually asks, genuinely curious, and a bit afraid of the answer. Harry peeks at Louis' face again, and he looks uncomfortable. Harry feels like he's going to drop the subject until Louis says, in a small voice, "Sort of. Since you left.”

"Oh." Harry feels like his breath is knocked out of his lungs. Deep shame pools in his stomach. "I - I'm so sorry-"

"Thanks, Harry, but I'm fine." Louis sees the disbelieving look Harry shoots at him - Louis was absolutely _wrecked_ last Sunday _,_ it was the total opposite of being fine - and Louis smiles at him, a small, tight smile. "Really. Don't worry about it. I'm sick of people worrying about me," Louis adds with a slight chuckle.

Harry decides to leave it at that, unsure of what to say. After a beat, Louis murmurs under his breath, very quietly, "And I'm sorry, too."

"For - for what?" Harry tries to keep his voice calm and neutral, though a very slight tremor takes over at the end of the sentence.

"For shouting at you last Sunday. I mean, I can't remember for the life of me anything I said, but I'm sure they were mean. And a little unfair," Louis says in a rush, as if he's been juggling with the words in his head for a long time.

"It's honestly not unfair," Harry says, chuckling sadly. "I did leave everyone. You're right to call me out on it."

"But I'm _trying_ to be better alright? Might as well, unless we want Anne and Robin to wake up one day where one of us murdered the other," Louis says, a joking lilt to his voice.

Harry smiles, a bit of the tension easing from his chest. "I suppose."

"And - um," Louis starts, and now Harry is certain that his cheeks are slightly pink. "I didn't - uh, slap you, or anything, did I?"

Harry snorts. "Well, you were struggling a little as I tried to stuff you in my car, but you didn't slap me."

"I didn't - um, okay, good," Louis says, eyes trained right on the road. Harry glances at him questioningly, wondering if he's going to ask another question, but Louis doesn't say anything else.

A silence descends over the car once more as they drive closer to Sainsbury's, but it seems like the ice has been broken between them - the air isn't as heavy, and Harry feels like he can breathe again.

When Louis parks the car, Harry realizes he hasn't responded properly to Louis' expression of gratitude yet. "You're welcome," Harry says, the words stumbling out of his lips just as Louis opens the car door and moves to step outside. "I mean, for Sunday." Louis looks over his shoulder to give him a smile, soft at the edges, still a little guarded, but it's a smile nonetheless. It relaxes Harry's tight shoulders and tense jaw.

As it turns out, grocery shopping with Louis isn't as unpleasant as Harry expected it to be. It’s a new Sainsbury’s, one that was set up just three years ago, so Harry follows Louis around the store as he pushes the cart, feeling a little useless, and a little bit like a puppy dog. He smiles to himself, a little ruefully - that had been what not-so-nice kids at school called him: Louis’ puppy, then dog when he had his growth spurt, because he had always been following Louis around back then. It had been hard not to; Louis had a magnetic energy about him, drawing everyone in, and it absolutely and completely captivated Harry from the moment he first saw Louis in school, standing up front introducing himself as the new kid.

“Harry?”

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he realizes Louis has stopped in one of the aisles. He accidentally bumps Louis’ hip with the cart when Louis turns to him. “Oof - sorry, sorry, what did you say?”

Louis sends him a sort of half-smile, then says, “I was wondering if we should get some crisps. D’you have any favorite ones?”

“Oh! Um, anything’s fine,” Harry says, a little flustered, still trying to get used to normal conversation between him and Louis. Louis hums, turning his gaze toward the stacks of potato crisps. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, and he’s biting the inside of his cheeks as he surveys all the options. Harry finds himself staring at the way his cheeks hollow, accentuating his sharp cheekbones. His feathery light hair is coming out of his coiff, thin strands framing his face delicately.

Louis catches him staring when he pulls out two large Walkers bags and leans over to place it in the cart. His eyes are a bit wide, and he has a questioning lift to his eyebrow.

Harry pretends he’s looking over Louis’ shoulder, humming along to the Ariana Grande track playing from the store’s speakers. He hopes Louis doesn’t notice the way he drums his fingers on the cart handle a little nervously.

They’re at the vegetable aisle, and Louis is getting the carrots behind Harry while Harry surveys the crate of potatoes. He takes a big net of them, checking that they’re all fine, when another memory suddenly enters Harry’s mind. He turns to Louis, who is now making space in their cart for two nets of carrots.

“Hey, Louis,” Harry says, holding up the potatoes in one hand. “Remember?”

The moment Louis looks over at the potatoes, something warm flickers in his eyes. He smiles, and Harry knows he remembers the exact same thing.

_“Pow-tay-toes,” Louis said as they walked side-by-side in the vegetable aisle. “That’s how Niall likes to call them.” He hip checked Harry before striding over to the crate of potatoes at the end of the aisle._

_Harry laughed, watching the sway of his hips, like always. “What are you planning to make again? Please don’t burn down the house, love.”_

_“Harry,” Louis said in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart as he bent over to take a bag of potatoes. “Do you not trust me yet?” Then Louis whirled towards him and said, “Catch!” Harry was caught completely by surprise as the bag of potatoes sailed through the air like a bullet. He took several steps back, hoping to catch the bag, then promptly bumped straight into a tower of oranges behind him._

_The tower crumbled with a loud crash and oranges spilled all around his feet, rolling around like a million pool balls. Harry clutched the bag of potatoes to his chest, surveying the mess in horror._

_“Louis!” Harry hissed, bright red, painfully aware of the shoppers stopping around them with disapproving looks on their faces._

_Louis was laughing silently, clutching his stomach, wiping at his teary eyes. “Watch out, love,” he exhaled, then went into a fit of laughter again. Despite the mess around him, Harry watched him fondly, rolling his eyes. “Dick.”_

Louis shakes his head, and Harry can see the ghost of a fond smile on his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, hesitant smile spreading across his face. “Catch?”

This time, Louis catches the bag of potatoes perfectly.

A peace rests easy in Harry’s bones as they drive back to Louis’ house in a perfect, harmonious silence, Molly Tuttle crooning softly on the radio.

_Send me a signal, I can see now at a distance, your sails are down. You took the long way to come around._

¤

It's late on a cold Saturday night when Louis is driving home from London, and he has never been more thankful for the end of a day. He and Liam spent the whole day in the studio with Naomi's Fire, finally in the initial stages of recording, and if Louis had to stay in that cramped space for one more second with those divas, he might have wrung one of their necks in a moment of insanity. Preferably Andre's, Louis thinks morbidly.

He lets out a big sigh right after he parks his car and turns off the engine, giving himself a moment. He shuts his tired eyes and leans back. The addict in him desperately wishes for just a sip of whiskey, maybe a glass of that shitty American wine, in the hopes that slight inebriation could relax the knots in his shoulders and his back. Ernest and Doris are bunking with him, though, and he will never drink or be drunk around them as long as he can help it.

He trudges to the front door, dimly realizing Harry might still be awake, but he's too tired that he can't bring himself to care too much. They've been getting along a lot better, anyway, since that night at Sainsbury's. Louis has discovered that coexisting with an ex is possible, as long as neither brings up sensitive topics. Harry's learned not to bring up the ring again, and Louis doesn't bring up how Harry abandoned them all, so there is currently a fragile, undeniably pleasant peace between them both.

He's mildly surprised to see the couch empty when he comes in. _Maybe he's out for one of his late-night runs,_ Louis thinks, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. He finds it strange that Harry would rather run at night than in the morning, but he supposes it would be smarter, as he can more easily avoid being recognized. Louis opens the fridge door, his fingers twitching reflexively at the sight of a row of perfectly chilled beers at the side. An overwhelming, almost terrifying _want_ grips him at that moment, and he's reaching for one of the beers with shaking fingers - _just one bottle, one can't hurt -_

A muffled crash comes from the second floor, and Louis jerks his hand back. He quickly shuts the fridge door, trying to shake away the tremor that has taken over his fingers.

Then he realizes the crash came from where his room is, where Ernest and Doris are, and worry sobers him up like a bucket of ice-cold water. He runs quickly across the house and up the stairs, ready to pounce if ever someone broke in and is in his room, about to kidnap his dear siblings -

He swings the door open with a loud thud, and finds Harry tucking his siblings into his bed. Harry visibly jumps at the loud sound, then presses a finger to his lips, brows furrowing. He points to the kids, who are slightly stirring in their sleep, but don't get up.

Louis lets out a relieved sigh. And then realizes Harry is in _his_ room.

"I just finished reading them a bedtime story," Harry whispers, picking up a copy of the Velveteen Rabbit from the floor. Louis just stares at him, feeling an itch rise from the bottom of his spine up at the sight of Harry _in his room_ , in one of the only personal, safe spaces he has in the world.

Harry must notice his discomfort, because when he stands up straight again, he shoots Louis an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry I came in here, Anne and Robin are already asleep and playtime ran longer than I expected-"

"S'alright, Harry," Louis finds himself saying, and he wishes he had time to gulp down a glass of water because his throat suddenly feels very dry. "Thanks."

The room is dark as the lights aren't switched on, but bright moonlight filters through the window by the bed. The air between them is still thick but it isn't angry; it’s a little bit awkward, a little bit tentative, like the way you dip your toe in a swimming pool to test the temperature while you're standing out in the open half-naked. Louis draws in a shaky breath, as if the water he touched with his toe was particularly cold.

Harry is all but a dark silhouette in the moonlight, velvet shadows settling into the bones of his face. Against his will, Louis is once again bombarded with a particularly painful memory, one that he had fought so hard to push into a box in his mind.

This was how Louis had found Harry five years ago, standing against the moonlight. It was the night of their very first big fight. Harry had stood at the foot of what was once their bed, his shoulders visibly tense even in the dark. Louis remembers that Harry's laptop had been open on their bed to an email, the email that caused the house they built to tumble like playing cards.

_"How can you do this to me, Louis?" Harry said in a low, trembling voice, fists clenched to his sides. He shook with anger, and his eyes shone with unshed tears in the dark._

_Louis tried to remain calm, but panic was rising inside him as if it wanted to drown him from the inside out. His heart was pounding so loud, so fast, Louis was sure he would get a heart attack._

_"I did it for us, Harry," Louis gritted out, his voice surprisingly level even in his ears._

_"No, you did it for_ you _," Harry spat out, raising an accusatory finger at him. "You don't want me to leave."_

_Louis throws his hands in the air, unwillingly letting some of his frustration show. "Well, Harry, can you blame me? How fucking horrid of me, I want to keep my fiancé from buggering off to bloody America!"_

_"But why would you fucking sneak onto my laptop and answer my emails for me?" They are both shouting now, tensions rising faster and faster._

_"It was_ one _email, and it was from that slimy Nick who's been messaging you since you posted that video of you singing Happily, which is a song we wrote_ together _-"_

 _"Nick is_ not _slimy, he's just offering to connect me with an agent he knows-"_

_"Ooh la la, a gay man doing another gay man a favor, wonder what the hell he wants-"_

_"Shut the fuck up, Louis, this isn't about Nick-"_

_"No, it's not!" Louis screams, slamming the wall behind him with his fist, and Harry takes a step back, shocked. They are both in tears, both gasping for breath, both shaking to their cores. "It's about you wanting to leave me in the dirt while you take all our hard work for yourself!"_

Louis blinks the memory away, but the ache in his heart stays, as it always does. It has been so long since he allowed that memory to resurface, and now that it has, the gut-wrenching pain and guilt takes him completely by surprise and knocks the wind out of his lungs. He was just getting used to Harry being gone, to the memories in this home beginning to fade, when Harry so abruptly reappeared in his life and threatened to disrupt all the healing Louis has been trying to achieve.

And the guilt bombards him like an unforgiving tidal wave in a storm. _You drove him away, Louis. He may have been the one to leave, but_ you _drove him away._

Louis can't quite make out the expression of Harry's face in the dark, but he recognizes the miniscule shifting of his feet, the way he absentmindedly twists the rings on his fingers. But Louis, curiously, can see Harry's eyes clearly, and in them he sees a soft, open green, only for a second.

Harry quickly averts his gaze, and the strange moment is gone. Louis feels like he's been doused by cold water again, numb all over.

"Anne left you some dinner in the fridge," Harry says, breaking the silence between them.

"Oh. Oh, okay." Louis has no idea what to do; he suddenly feels paralyzed at his spot, and the only thing reminding him he is alive is the frantic beating of his heart. There are a million words crowding his brain, not one of them combining to form a semblance of a coherent thought.

"Um, yeah. So… good night." Harry walks quickly, jerkily towards the doorway and nimbly sidesteps Louis. Louis catches a whiff of Anne's lavender-scented shampoo in the brief moment that their shoulders glance against each other. 

Before he can think about it, Louis is grabbing Harry's wrist. Harry snaps his head towards Louis, body going rigid, but Louis keeps a firm grip on him, mostly because his body has gone rigid, too.

"I - I-" Louis stutters, entirely unsure of what he is going to say. _"Sorry"? "I regret it"? "Please don't leave"?_

"Yes?" Harry says, and Louis feels an especially painful twinge in his heart at the hopeful lilt to Harry's voice, and now that the moonlight is shining right on Harry's face, Louis can see that his eyes are wide, waiting. _What is he hoping for?_ Louis’ heart skips too many beats to be considered healthy, and seeing Harry’s open expression is officially too much for him.

“I - nothing,” Louis says, letting go of Harry’s wrist. “Good night.”

Harry looks down at his feet as he nods, his face carefully shutting down into a blank expression. He turns on his heel without another word, heading down the stairs. Louis stares after him, his heart still rabbity in his chest.

He drifts around the room getting ready for bed, feeling too much like the ghosts that plague his memories. He tries desperately to ignore the shoebox crammed at the back of his closet as he settles into bed beside his siblings, and the sun is just starting to rise in the sky when Louis finally lapses into a fitful sleep.

¤

Monday morning, the sun is just barely up in the sky when Harry wakes, the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window of the living room still too weak to provide any warmth. Harry opens his eyes slowly, and he winces when he tries to get up from his restless slumber. He has a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch for the last four nights, even if it's quite a comfortable one - it definitely isn't made for long-term sleep.

He's about to swing his legs over the couch and maybe do a bit of Matt's yoga stretching out in the big, empty yard when he realizes someone is playing the piano behind the couch. Before he can move a muscle, Louis' soft, singing voice fills the first floor, pinning Harry to the cushions. He hasn't heard Louis sing in what feels like forever and a day, and it absolutely floors him.

"So I will keep you, day and night, here until the day I die, I'll be living one life for the two of us. I will be the best of me, always keep you next to me; I'll be living one life for the two of us." Louis' voice cracks delicately when he sings the last _two_ , and Harry is suddenly very much wide awake.

Louis is singing for Jay, and Fizzy too.

Harry realizes his wide, open eyes are filling with tears as Louis continues the song, his breath catching in his throat at the lyrics, "We'll end just like we started: just you and me and no one else."

Harry feels the lump in his throat growing and growing as he thinks about Jay - sunshine personified, a good person inside and out, just like her Louis. Their bond had been nothing like Harry has ever witnessed; though Harry and his mother are also particularly close, there was just something special about their relationship. Louis had talked about it at length countless times, admitting to Harry that he felt he had the responsibility to care for his mother. It had been just the two of them for a while before Lottie came along, through Jay's painful divorce and initial financial stresses; in many ways, Louis was Jay's rock as much as she was his.

It was a beautiful, pure relationship, based completely on trust and respect for each other. Louis loved her more than anything in the world, and so he strapped on his big boy pants at such a young age and sacrificed a part of his childhood so that his mum would feel less alone. They were partners-in-crime, the two of them against the world, long before Harry came along. It was one of the many reasons Harry fell so hard for Louis in the first place - how could he not, when he had been presented with such a confident, intelligent, athletic and beautiful boy with a golden heart?

The song ends, and Harry doesn't dare breathe or move, not that the weight on his chest made either of those any easier to do. Tears stream quietly down his face; he can taste their saltiness from the corner of his mouth, can feel the wetness as it lands on the pillow pressed up against his cheek. He thanks the heavens that his face is completely hidden from Louis' view behind the couch, but even then, Harry is desperate to see Louis' face, to _know_ how he feels, to figure out if there's anything he can do to assuage the painful longing and sadness in Louis' voice.

Harry hears the legs of the piano seat scrape on the floor, and Louis’ soft padded footfalls as he heads towards the front door.

 _He’s finally put on socks_ , Harry thinks, even when he closes his eyes in a panic and pretends to be asleep _._ When he hears the front door finally shut, Harry lays quietly on the couch for what seems like ages, unable to move, feeling his face grow crusty with his tears as the sky outside continues to brighten.

He almost jumps out of his skin when his phone goes off like a firecracker, almost vibrating itself off of the glass coffee table. Harry quickly gets up, wincing at the slight pain on his neck, and sees the caller ID with the familiar, goofy photo: it's Zayn, calling at yet another ungodly hour from L.A.

Harry slips on his beat-up white trainers and slinks out the side door and out to the garden. It's the only new thing about the house - Louis must have bought the adjacent lot very recently. It was a wide empty space, and Harry supposed it would be perfect for a kids' playground or a big dinner party.

He picks up Zayn's call, leaning against the glass windows as he yawns into his hand. "Morning, Z."

"H! Glad to catch you at a good time," Zayn says from the other end, sounding unusually chipper for calling during what should be around midnight in L.A. Harry supposes Zayn has always been a night owl, anyway. "You are going to _love_ me!"

Harry rubs at his face, trying to wipe away the remnants of tears on his cheeks and at the sides of his eyes. "I _do_ love you already, babe."

"But you're going to love me even more!" There's a brief, excited pause from Zayn before he all but shrieks, "I got you in with J-Grace!"

Harry knows he should feel ecstatic, that he should be jumping in joy at the news that his favorite songwriter has agreed to write for his upcoming album, but he can't quite bring himself up to that level, not when his emotions are still roiling inside him like badly-cooked food.

"Oh. Wow, Z, that's amazing," Harry says, and even he feels guilty at how unenthusiastic he sounds. He _did_ pester Zayn for months, maybe even a full year about this.

"Hm. Thought you'd be a little more excited, not gonna lie, thought you were gonna wanna fly straight back here just to give me a kiss on the cheek."

"Yeah, no, of course I'm excited," Harry rushes to say, kicking himself for being so turbulent with his emotions. "Thank you, Z, I am so excited, I'm just tired, is all."

"Louis still giving you a hard time?" Zayn asks, and Harry tries to swat away the invisible hand that suddenly clenches at his heart as Louis' singing voice fills his head again.

"You could say that," Harry says drily.

"Well, not to worry, love," Zayn says, back to his excited mood. "J-Grace is currently swamped by other clients, so he'll only be able to meet you in three weeks. You _can_ actually fly back home for a bit if you'd like, I reckon."

Harry chews on his lip. Back to L.A., huh? His life there seems so distant now, the life full of celebrity friends and Matt's band parties and trendy restaurants and getting papped everywhere he goes. Harry feels so disconnected from all of it, wrapped up in his mother's warm smile and the twins' cackling laughs and Louis' soft, singing voice.

"I - I'll see," Harry just says lamely, not knowing what else to say. He honestly hasn't thought about the ring since the night he brought Louis home from the pub, and it makes him a bit guilty. Matt is waiting for him at home, waiting for Harry to confirm a wedding date for them, and Harry is taking his sweet time disappearing from the grid and hiding from his real life. It's funny, Harry thinks; just two weeks ago he would've given his left arm and an ear to get his ring back. Today, he's not so sure.

He chats with Zayn for a good while, Zayn telling him that Gigi's pregnant and that they're going to find out about the sex of the baby soon. Harry feels himself slowly waking up more and more, and finds himself able to push Louis away from his mind as he catches up with his friend. He should probably call Zayn more often; he needs someone to ground him, to remind him of why he came back to Cheshire in the first place.

When Harry eventually hangs up from his call with Zayn, the sun is high up in the sky, though it's a sad, pale blob amongst the equally pale clouds. Winter is coming soon. His phone vibrates with a text message as he reenters the house, and he sees it's from Matt.

_hey, babe. I’m sending over a surprise to you on Thursday. Hope you like it ;)_

A fuzzy feeling grows in Harry's chest at the message. This is why he's here; it's all for his future with his wonderful fiancé. Harry types in a quick, _I love you sooo much x_ as he heads to the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast for his parents and the twins. As he cooks, he plays his morning cooking playlist, too preoccupied humming to Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros to remember that he never gave Matt his home address.

¤

Louis is curled up on the couch inside the formal dining room, frowning at his notebook. The end of Louis' pencil is chewed to death, and he can taste the metallic tang on his tongue. The words for an untitled song - a fun, poppy one with hints of British rock - evade him.

He can't fucking write. He leans back and closes his eyes, heaving out a deep sigh. Ever since his house has been taken over by the Styles-Twist family and the rowdy twins, he has taken his songwriting from the living room to here, since Harry's currently holed up on Louis' couch. But he can't write here; he likes curling up on the couch chair in the living room, facing the window, where he can feel the warmth of the sunlight fade into a comforting chill as night nears. He already misses the feeling of being so engrossed in his songwriting that he doesn't realize the room growing darker and darker until the notebook is mere inches from his face, eyes squinty and strained. His eyesight is horrible now, hence the thickening of his lenses.

He glances towards the kitchen, where he knows that a row of beers is just waiting for him in the fridge. He fights the urge to grab one, knowing the twins might be back from their dinner with Anne and Robin soon. He hasn’t drank since they moved in six days ago, and his headaches and trembling hands have been getting worse as time goes by.

Through the wall, he hears Harry watching Netflix in the living room. Louis chews on the end of his pencil again, debating whether or not to go out there and just write. He supposes it won't be so bad; the silence around them hasn't felt so thick lately. It's now more of a welcome kind of awkward, as if they were just acquaintances stuck in an inescapable social situation. He supposes that's true. Harry has also been cooking all of them breakfast dutifully every morning, and everyone knows that the easy way into Louis' good graces is through his stomach.

Louis doesn't feel anger anymore, either, and that's scaring him more than he'd like to admit.

But he glances down at his notebook, at his barely legible scrawls and frustratedly crossed-out words, and before he can think too much about it, he walks over to the doorway and pokes his head out.

Harry turns to look at him from the couch before Louis even says a word, and the way Harry's eyes find him so easily makes Louis feel something strange in his bones. Harry is wrapped up in a thick, colorful patchwork cardigan. It was an ugly crocheted thing, Louis thought to himself, but the way it hung off of Harry's frame somehow made it work.

"Can I work over there?" Louis asks after clearing his throat. It feels scratchy, and not having a drink for nearly a week is making it feel like sandpaper. "Can't work in here, 's too stuffy."

"Oh, yeah, of course, sure," Harry says, shifting around on the sofa. His hair is loose around his face, curls framing the sharp cut of his cheekbones delicately.

 _Fuck it, one bottle won't hurt._ "Want a beer?" Louis calls out, crossing over quickly to the kitchen before his conscience changes his mind.

"Yeah, thanks. You need help?" Harry's already getting on his feet when Louis says that it's fine, pinning the notebook to his body with his arm as he reaches for two bottles in the fridge. After a beat, he grabs a third bottle before heading to the couch. He sees Harry watching Friends - _of course, Harry, glorify America_ \- and can't stop himself from rolling his eyes as he hands Harry his beer. He definitely doesn't notice how Harry's sweater is so oversized that even his huge hands are dwarfed by the ends of his sleeves.

"Do you want me to turn off the telly?" Harry caught him rolling his eyes, and now looks a little nervous.

Louis shakes his head, taking the couch seat facing the window. "Nah, it's fine, shit American shows make me work better."

Harry dimples, a small smile tugging at his cheek. "Friends isn't shit."

"It's shit if I say so, that's my Netflix account you're using."

This time, it's a full-blown smile that lights up Harry's whole face. Louis takes a swig of his beer, trying to ignore the fact that his hands are starting to feel shaky at the sight. "Thanks for letting me use it, by the way," Harry says graciously, wrapping both hands around his beer.

"Well, maybe I _am_ due for an act of selflessness some time."

Harry giggles, _he fucking giggles_ , through his ringed fingers. Louis doesn’t know if he wants to throw his notebook at the wall or disappear into the couch cushions. He just decides to go back to his notebook, taking a long swig of beer. The alcohol washes down his throat and settles prickly and warm in his belly, his body instantly relaxing at the familiar, intoxicating taste.

A comfortable silence settles between the both of them. The telly drones on in the background as Louis scrawls more lyrics in his notebook, already feeling better about writing.

_You kill my mind; raise my body back to life._

Louis hums; that isn't bad at all. The new boy band he and Liam are working with would probably like it. He gulps down his beer, barely noticing it's more than halfway finished. He adjusts his glasses and reviews the piece so far, crosses a few words out and replaces them with better ones. After a while, he looks up, trying to think up a possible pre-chorus, when the scene on TV grabs his attention. It’s Rachel and Ross breaking up.

"Well, you sure had a hell of a time at the wake!" Jennifer Aniston's furious voice comes through. "God! And to have to hear about it from _Gunther_!"

"Come on!" Ross says, equally frustrated. "Like I wanted him to tell you, I ran all over the place trying to make sure that didn't happen!"

"Ross is a right bitch in this," Harry suddenly says, jerking Louis back to reality.

"Oh?

Harry swivels to look at him, surprised. "You don't agree? Wait, you know what's happening, right?"

" _Yes_ , Harry, even peasants like me have watched Friends." Louis sniffs, and Harry bites his lower lip as he cracks a smile at Louis. "And of course I agree. He shouldn't have slept with anyone else."

“Exactly!” Harry looks exasperated as he throws his hands up in the air - adorably so, Louis thinks, and suddenly wants to smack his own head at that bewildering thought. “God, if I could tell you how many times Matt and I have fought over this. He says since Ross and Rachel were technically _broken up_ -" Harry's sleeves roll down a bit as he raises his hands in air quotes- "then Rachel has no right to be angry. But listen, if Rachel had been the one to sleep with someone else the night they _broke up_ \- the same fucking night, Lou! - we’d also think badly of her.”

Louis is a little overwhelmed by Harry's sudden outburst, and desperately tries to ignore that Harry had just called him Lou for the first time in five years.

“Good thing Rachel broke up with him. Never liked Ross for her, to be honest," Harry continues, oblivious to Louis' tornado-stricken head, as he watches Rachel order a pizza. "At least Joey always wanted what was best for her. And their friendship grew even stronger after they broke up.”

Louis nods mutely, mumbling unintelligibly under his breath in agreement, staring back at his notebook resolutely. _So... are we Joey and Rachel, Harry?_ he wants to ask, but the doorbell suddenly rings through the house like the crack of a whip.

Louis gets up so quick on his feet he gets a headrush, stumbling backwards a little. “Whoa, careful, Louis.” He rights himself just as Harry lunges at him, his hand catching him just on the small of his back. Louis sets his beer down on the coffee table a little too loudly before he bolts to the door, as if Harry's hand had burned him.

When he opens the door, he is greeted by hugs that barely come up to his thighs. "We're back!" Ernest says as Doris smiles up at him, and Louis immediately feels the guilt rage inside his stomach. He is all too aware of the bitter taste on his tongue, on the slight fuzziness in his belly. _I should never have opened that bottle, I shouldn't have-_

"We brought both of you some takeaway," Anne says as they crowd through the door, handing Louis a paper bag still warm from the Chinese food inside. Louis sees the exact moment she notices the beers on the table, because her eyes immediately grow dimmer, sadder. She turns to him, and they don't need any words to communicate her disappointment.

 _She just wants what's best for you,_ Louis reminds himself, but his shame doesn't feel any less painful. Anne and Robin bring Ernest and Doris up to his room as Louis takes his seat again, setting the paper bag down on the coffee table before his trembling hands drop them. _Who am I? What have I become?_

In a stroke of madness, Louis grabs at his notebook again, words flowing out of him in waves, thundering out of his mind through his shaking fingertips. He sets down his notebook on his lap, surveying the words he wrote with his heart beating loudly in his ears.

 _There's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands.  
_ What am I now?  
_What if I'm someone I don't want around?  
_I'm falling again, down and out.

"You okay?"

For the second time that night, Harry's voice jerks Louis back to reality. He meets Harry's gaze; he has one of his big hands halfway into the paper bag of food, his whole body on pause, as he looks at Louis with a mildly concerned expression.

Louis tries to gulp down the large lump in his throat; he's embarrassingly close to sudden tears and he can't do this again. "Yeah, yeah. Is that from Fortune City?" Louis asks, hurriedly redirecting the conversation.

"Yup," Harry says excitedly, immediately distracted by his favorite takeaway in all of Holmes Chapel. He takes out the contents, a gleeful smile lighting up his face. " _Yes_ , mum got us the chili & garlic fried tofu! God, I've missed this. Let me tell you, there is nowhere else in the world with takeaway as good as this."

Louis tries to go for a smile, but it's weak at best - his stomach is still swirling with shame. He _promised_ himself he would never drink in front of the twins. His hands slightly tremble as he reaches for the chow mein. How weak-willed is he?

"Louis." He startles, almost dropping the box of takeaway, when Harry says his name. Harry's scarfing down the tofu like a starved man, and Louis would have laughed at how ridiculous he looks if it weren't for the intensity in his green eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"I-" Louis stops, unsure of what to say. Does he really want to open up to Harry again about his raging alcoholism? He feels shitty enough as it is. He doesn’t need to embarrass himself in front of the man who left him; Louis still has a bit of pride.

When Louis doesn’t continue, Harry swallows his food and lowers his hands, looking at Louis apologetically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to - um...” He waves his hands, looking a bit lost. The awkwardness in the room has risen to higher levels, and Louis kind of wants to laugh in a burst of hysteria.

Instead, he buries his head in his hands and lets out a weak chuckle. The third, unopened bottle of beer stands innocently on the coffee table, and Louis can feel its presence. He wants to smash it against a wall.

“Harry, could you…” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, face still hidden behind his hands, voice muffled. “Could you put away the beers for me?”

“Oh.” Louis can imagine how Harry’s face changes when realization dawns on him, and Louis’ stomach clenches in shame at his weakness. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” Louis stays in the same position for a while, listening to the clinking of the glasses as Harry moves about to get the offending bottles away from the living room. It must be ten minutes that Louis just sits like that, feeling like he wants the ground to just swallow him up whole.

He hears Harry settle back into the couch and place something on the coffee table with a soft clink. Louis looks between his fingers, and in the midst of all the Chinese takeaway, he sees a newly-made steaming cup of tea.

Louis reaches for it wordlessly, a bit tentatively, bringing it close to his chest in the hopes it would warm him up from the outside in. He blows at the surface of the liquid, then glances up at Harry, who is now watching telly studiously with an unreadable expression on his face. Louis can feel something twist in his stomach, the feeling reaching the tips of his toes, something not entirely unpleasant. He takes a sip of his tea, and of course it’s perfect; Harry has made him his tea a million times before, in a different time.

“Is it good?” Harry suddenly asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Louis smiles secretly into his cup. “Yeah, it’s perfect. Thanks.”

They spend the rest of the night finishing their Chinese takeaway and watching Modern Family - Louis insisted it was better than Friends, and Harry conceded - and Louis doesn’t realize how heavy his eyelids have gotten as the night approaches the twelfth hour. He eventually falls asleep on the couch chair, curled up to his side, belly full of Chinese food and perfect tea. In between sleep and awake, someone places a blanket on top of him, and he allows himself to dream it’s Harry.

¤

Harry jerks awake on the couch from his phone blaring like a foghorn through the cold air in the living room. He squints at the window, and he sees the sun is barely up outside, a white sphere bleeding into the very pale blue of the sky. He shivers, realizing they never turned on the heating for the first floor.

Then he cranes his neck to check the couch chair, and sees that Louis isn’t there anymore from where he fell asleep last night. He must have transferred upstairs at some point, though there’s still an imprint of his body on the cushions. Though foggy from sleep, memories from last night are still stuck in his mind; Louis doesn't know, but Harry definitely noticed how he had smiled into his cup of tea while calling it "perfect". It sent a wave of something like satisfaction through Harry.

His phone starts to ring again, slicing loudly in the silence and through Harry's barely-awake brain. He grunts as he gets off the couch and fumbles for his phone through the containers of Chinese takeaway they hadn’t thrown out yet. He squints at the screen, and sees that there are 32 missed calls from Matt. His eyes widen in alarm.

“Matt, are you alright?” Harry asks urgently when he answers the call, voice still rough from the morning.

“Baby, finally!” Matt’s voice comes through, loud and chipper, and Harry squints an eye in a grimace at the volume. “I told you I had a surprise for you on Thursday! Open the door, I’m pretty sure it’s there already.”

Harry frowns as he gets up and walks the short distance to the door. “Babe, how do you know if it’s here already-”

Then he swings the door open, and there stands Matt, in the flesh.

In front of Louis’ fucking house.

“Harry!” Matt is loud with happiness as he throws his arms around Harry and pulls him into an embrace. Harry is shocked to the bone, his mind reeling at the sudden bomb quite literally dropped at his feet. _Matt is here, oh my God, Louis can’t see him-_

“Babe!” Even to his own ears, his voice sounds weirdly high-pitched. He pulls away and tries to mask his panic when he kisses Matt on the lips. “How'd you know I'd be herr?”

Matt beams at him, squeezing his hands. “Well, Zayn gave me your home address-” _Fucking Zayn._ “-but then I saw that pest control was working there. When I asked them where you and your family went, they didn’t know, but they said that your dad owns The Twisty Pig, so I went to the pub. You never told me your dad owned a pub! How British is that! Did you know it was open already? Jesus, it’s only seven in the morning. Anyway, one of the bartenders - Daniel, I think? - said you and your family were staying in Louis’ house. Since he listens to my music, he gave me the address for an autograph, and now, here I am!”

Matt’s smile is blinding, too blinding for the pale skies of Holmes Chapel. Harry’s overwhelmed by all the information that just spewed out of his fiance. Harry would have melted at the gorgeous smile on Matt’s face if he had been shining it for Harry under normal circumstances.

He hopes to God that Louis doesn’t come down any time soon. He needs to get Matt out of here first.

“Can I come in?” Matt blinks at him innocently, and Harry startles when he realizes they’re still standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says, plastering a smile on his face as he steps aside and lets Matt in. Matt crosses over to the living room and plops down on the couch chair where Louis had been sleeping, continuing to speak.

“Louis seems like such a nice person to let you guys stay here. Was he your childhood best friend? You had a crush on him, didn’t you?” Matt pokes at Harry’s side when Harry sits on the arm of the chair. He feels sick to the stomach at Matt’s teasing. _Oh, if only Matt knew._

He actually has no fucking words to say when Anne and Robin come walking down the stairs, both still very sleep-mussed and peering at the both of them confusedly.

“Mum! Robin!” Harry jumps up, feeling like his heart might pound itself right out of his throat. “Matt came here to surprise me.”

Matt doesn’t know Anne and Robin enough to notice how their eyes widen imperceptibly. Matt stands up and directs his winning, charming smile at them, obviously oblivious to the ridiculous situation they are all suddenly in.

“Matt.” Anne is the first one to speak. She crosses the room and places her hands on his biceps, smiling warmly at him. “Let me have a look at you.”

Matt chuckles, a little awkwardly. “Knock yourself out, ma’am.”

Harry feels like he could vomit. From behind Matt, he shoots a panicked look at Robin, who looks just as alarmed as he is. Robin nods his head once, and Harry hopes to God he knows what to do.

A few minutes later, Anne, Matt and Harry are sitting at the breakfast nook. Robin steps out to the lawn to make a call, hopefully to Louis, and Harry glances nervously between his mum and his fiance getting to know each other for the first time.

“I’m really sorry for dropping by with no notice,” Matt says politely, apologetically. “This is a lovely home.”

“It’s Louis’ home, dear, but it is no problem at all.”

“Oh, right, right! I should be thanking him, is he here?”

“No, no, he went to pick up some pastries from the bakery, I believe.”

 _Oh fuck, thank god._ Harry feels like the panic is threatening to overtake him. It feels so wrong for Matt to be here; he knows the second Louis sees him, all the tension between them both will be brought up again, and he won’t be able to ask for the ring. That seemed like such a distant problem in the past week, but Matt being here has brought it front and center once more.

Harry cuts in the conversation between them. “Shall we book a hotel, babe? I’m just a coucher right now, there’s no space for the both of us here.”

Matt smiles at him, placing a warm hand on his thigh. “Yeah, yeah, that would be great!” Then Matt smiles teasingly at him, squeezing his thigh. “I would’ve loved to see your childhood bedroom, though.”

Anne laughs. “It’s full of his old posters of Nickelback. We didn’t want to take them down,” Anne says, chuckling through her fingers.

“ _Mum._ ”

“Oh, Matt, thank you for taking care of Harry for us all these years,” Anne says as if Harry hadn’t said anything, reaching across the table and taking one of Matt’s hands in hers.

“No problem at all, Mrs. Styles.” There’s Matt’s blinding smile again, but Harry winces at his mistake.

Anne’s smile falters, thinning, but only Harry notices. “It’s Twist, actually. But call me Anne, dear.”

“I’m sorry, yes, it’s no problem, Mrs. Twi - Anne,” Matt says, fumbling a little, getting flustered. “You’ve raised a fine young man in Harry here,” he adds, and Harry wants to facepalm at how good of an ass-kisser his fiance is.

“Have I now?” Anne’s smile is back to its normal shine, and Harry breathes out a small sigh of relief.

“Oh, yes, you definitely did!” As Matt regales the tale of how Harry had so gentlemanly wooed him, Robin comes back in the house and crosses over to them, tapping Harry’s shoulder and beckoning him to the living room.

“Louis will be back soon from the bakery,” Robin tells him in a hushed voice, and Harry thinks he might actually die on the spot. They both glance over to Anne and Matt, who are talking animatedly about Matt’s romantic proposal. “Harry, I told him. He knows Matt’s here.”

Harry swallows, suddenly feeling like his throat is very dry. He may feel a little bit faint, too. “How long do we have until he-”

Then the front door opens, bringing in a sweater-wrapped Louis and the giggling twins, and Harry freezes in his spot. As Louis toes off his shoes, their eyes meet for a moment, and he can’t read the look on Louis’ face. _Louis, I’m sorry._

Louis looks away, carrying in two big bags of pastries while Ernest and Doris bound inside, both carrying smaller bags. They stop in their tracks when they see the stranger sitting at the table. 

“Louis, who is that?”

Louis chuckles softly. “Ernest, don’t be rude. Come on, hand over your bags to Anne.”

They obey, handing Anne the bags and climbing up on two seats at the table. As Louis walks up to the breakfast nook, Harry’s heart stutters in his chest. He kind of feels like he died and is watching the scene unfold in front of him as a ghost, powerless to stop the impending shitstorm that was about to begin.

Matt stands up and offers his hand to shake. “You must be Louis! I’m Matt.” Harry recognizes the smile Matt shoots at Louis - it's the smile he uses at public appearances, when meeting new people, when he wants to make a good impression. It's earnest, sure, but Harry knows it's practiced, too.

Louis stares at Matt's hand for a beat, then chuckles. “Sorry, mate, hold on, I’ll set these down first.”

Louis crosses to the kitchen counter to set both bags down, and then walks back over to shake Matt's hand. He has a polite, _warm_ smile on his face. Harry is confused; Louis does not look aggravated… at all.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Matt. I'm afraid Harry's been keeping you all to himself.”

Matt beams, and Harry knows he's giddy at the friendly interaction. “You know our Harry, very secretive." They both take their seats on the table, Louis sitting beside Matt. Harry's mind is reeling at the scene in front of him. _Wrong. Wrong. Everything is wrong._

"You have such a lovely place," Matt says. "And it’s so great of you to let Harry and his family stay here! Were you childhood best friends or something?”

Louis’s eyes flick to where Harry’s standing in the living room. Harry remains frozen, his heartbeat loud and stuttering at the question. _Please don’t tell him, Louis. Please._

Louis looks back at Matt and shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, something like that."

Harry feels relief at that, but something else prickles unpleasantly in his stomach. _Something like that._ He blames it on the nerves.

"Anyway, I gotta get the twins changed," Louis says, and Ernest and Doris clap their hands excitedly.

"We're going on a picnic!" Doris says, and Matt smiles at her, cooing at how cute she is.

Harry feels a twinge of guilt; he was supposed to go with Louis, the twins and Niall for a picnic day at the park before winter really kicks in.

Harry opens his mouth to speak for what feels like the longest time, and he feels he shouldn't regret the words that come out of his mouth as much as he does. “Oh, Louis, I don’t know if I can-”

“No, it’s okay, Harry, spend time with your fiance. I’m sure you miss him.”

There is no trace of venom in Louis’ voice, no anger at all. Harry finds himself thinking about it the whole day, even as he and Matt leave the house to book a hotel room.

¤

The Holmes Chapel park is littered with crunchy brown leaves, and the sky above is an almost blinding white. Though the winter chill has begun to seep into the earth and the layers Louis had donned before leaving the house, he feels sweat trickle down his neck as he pushes Doris higher and higher on the kiddie swings.

She's laughing giddily, swinging her legs about, tiny hands gripping the chains for dear life. "Higher, higher!" she shrieks, and Louis is glad to comply.

Niall is off in the grassy area of the park, kicking a football around with Ernest trying - and failing - to keep up with the ball whizzing around. Ernest is breathless, pink with excitement, nose pinched in the cold but smile warm as ever. Their picnic blanket and makeshift shade with an umbrella are sitting a few paces away from them, along with the basket of their lunch and pastries.

Still, even with the thrill of seeing his baby siblings elated, Louis' mind is undeniably torn between this moment now and what had happened only a few hours ago. He had told Niall about Matt's sudden appearance the moment the Irish boy arrived in the park, and Niall had almost dropped the cooler of drinks he brought.

"Harry's _fiancé_? Why the hell would he bring him to your house?" Niall said incredulously, with a tinge of frustration in his voice.

Louis rushed to explain that no, Harry had not _brought_ him, Matt just wanted to surprise Harry with a visit. Niall let out a quiet "oh" and, as he set down the cooler on the picnic blanket, he asked Louis if he was alright.

And if he was being honest about it, he really was. When he got the call from Robin telling him Matt was surprising Harry, he expected himself to rage, to throw a fit, to storm into his house and throw Harry and Matt out, screaming profanities. But he didn’t, neither did he feel the urge to; he had just said “okay”, bought a dozen more pastries than necessary, and walked back to his car with Ernest and Doris tailing at his heels.

And no, it's not _alright,_ like Louis doesn't care - of course he does, it's weird to have his ex-almost-husband's fiancé sitting at the breakfast nook he used to share with that same ex-almost husband. It was strange to have him right there, in the flesh, sitting on one of his chairs, and not on the cover of some gossip magazine with his arm swung over Harry's shoulders. Louis felt a bit sick, really, seeing the man Harry fell in love with when Louis had been gone from his life.

It's just that Matt seemed _nice_ , like a good enough bloke, with all his smiles and cleanly shaven face and broad muscled shoulders and thick arms. He was nearly as tall as Harry, but whereas Harry was all lanky and curly, Matt was like a gentle giant, with his blonde hair perfectly coiffed. Louis couldn’t hate him. He could actually see why Harry fell for him; he always took a liking to tall, clean-looking boys.

Louis was confused by the calmness of his brain, and it is only now as he pushes Doris on the swing, peering up at her silhouette against the sky, does he realize he's fine. He's… happy. For Harry.

At midday, Niall and Louis are lounging on the picnic blanket. Ernest and Doris had just scampered off towards the grass to play a little bit of footie. Louis called to them to take it easy, they wouldn't want to see their lunch travelling backwards from their stomachs out of their mouths. Niall guffawed at the looks of utter disgust scrunching up both their tiny little faces.

As Ernest and Doris play catch with the ball, not wanting to vomit all over themselves, Niall grabs two beers from his cooler and offers Louis one. Louis shakes his head, remembering the guilt he had felt the night before.

"No beer? Wow, I don't know who you are anymore," Niall jokes, putting one back in.

"Just not in front of the twins," Louis says, chuckling softly, "which seems to be all the time now." Even as he says it, he picks at the sticker on his bottle of lemonade dejectedly. As much as he loves them both, he wishes he could have a day alone, with just one beer. God, he needs it.

Niall hums, popping his can of beer open and taking a huge swig. "I can't believe you didn't kick them out, by the way."

"The twins?" Louis asks incredulously, and Niall almost snorts his beer up his nose from a sudden burst of laughter.

"No, you _dolt_ , Harry and what's-his-face," Niall says. "Can't believe you didn't throw a huge prissy fit like you usually do."

It's Louis' turn to snort, but a small smile is playing at his lips. "Eh, overdue for an act of selflessness, maybe.” He remembers how Harry had giggled at that joke through his ringed fingers. Louis feels a clinch in his chest at the image, but it's not entirely unwelcome.

Niall just raises an eyebrow at him. “Sounds to me like you’re moving on, mate.”

 _Moving on._ Such familiar words. Something Louis never thought he’d get to do. He has been harboring so much anger in the past five years that he didn't know where to even begin with _moving on._ Louis ponders that for a moment, watching Doris throw the ball particularly hard, sending it flying above Ernest's head. Ernest shouts at her in frustration as he runs to retrieve the ball.

“I guess so." Louis feels a strange warmth spread across him, and it feels a little something like peace. He tries not to think about Harry's little smiles, his deep voice filled with concern, the way his fingers lightly brushed against Louis' shoulders when he set down the blanket on top of him last night. _He's moved on, Louis. It's about time you do the same._ "It’s about time, eh?” He says, echoing his own thoughts. He raises his lemonade in cheers towards Niall.

His friend smiles, clinking his can to Louis’ bottle. “Cheers to that, mate.”

They sit in silence for a while, watching the kids continue to play. A chill breeze picks up, rustling the leaves on the ground, and Louis pulls his jacket tighter around his body. The weather was exactly like this the day after Harry had left Louis, not that Louis had stepped out of his house at all. He had sat in the living room from morning until night, desperately trying to contact Harry any way he can. By the time he fell asleep curled up on the couch chair, his face was streaked with dried up tears, and the coffee table was littered with cans of cheap beer and cigarette butts. Louis suddenly realizes that Harry has to leave again soon, to go off with Louis' ring and slide it onto another man's finger. Louis' heart clenches; he never wants to suffer like he did at the start ever again.

“I think I want to go to therapy.”

Niall looks at him, surprised. He sets the beer down, and Louis is endeared at how much Niall really can't control how his whole face lights up when he's excited. “Really, mate?”

Louis nods, staring at his feet. “Yeah, mostly for my alcoholism. I mean, I think I have it under control mostly when Ernest and Doris are around, but I can’t be too sure, you know? And now that I’m - _ahem_ \- moving on, I think it’s the perfect time.”

Niall beams at him, and Louis thanks the heavens yet again for blessing him with the greatest friends there could ever be. “Yeah, mate, of course, I support that.” Niall envelops him in a big, Irish hug, warming Louis' belly.

They pull away, and Niall asks if he has any options for therapists around. Louis nods, remembering the man Liam mentioned to him a while ago. “Yeah, I know someone in London, his name is Luke Malak. Supposed to be proper good.”

“That sounds great, Lou. When you startin’?”

“This weekend, maybe. Will give ‘im a visit after work.”

“Lovely. I’m proud of you, Lou.” Niall claps a hand on Louis’s shoulders. The conversation makes Louis warm to the toes.

“Thanks, mate.”

Ernest and Doris have since abandoned the ball and are now lying starfished on the grass, pointing up to the sky. It’s only a light spattering of clouds, and you can barely see them against the paleness of the sky, but Louis looks on endeared, anyway.

“So you’re really moving on from Harry, then?” Niall says, his voice back to its light, skippy tone.

“I guess so.” As Louis says it, he knows he doesn’t believe himself entirely, not yet; but is it possible to ever be completely ready to move on from something that used to be such a big part of one’s life?

“Yes!" Niall pumps a fist in the sky, and Louis looks at him questioningly. "I can finally listen to his songs in the car, then? Proper banging tunes, I tell ya!”

Louis rolls his eyes at Niall’s words, abandoning his thoughts. He punches Niall on the shoulder. “Ah, fuck off, Niall, is _that_ the reason you’re happy?” Niall cackles, throwing his empty beer can lightly at Louis’ head, and promptly collapses on the blanket with laughter at Louis’ look of utter shock when it bounces off his forehead.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without a hitch, even when the heavy feeling in Louis' gut doesn't exactly fade away. Now that he's purposely decided to move on, now that he's voiced out that he is going to take that step, unease has spread through him. He can't quite figure out why, and it drives him insane for the rest of the day, even when he steps in his house when the sky has darkened for the night. Ernest and Doris are sleeping over at Niall's, and for that Louis is grateful; he could use a drink.

Anne and Robin are sitting at the table having dinner, and when Louis walks in, they both turn to him and look at him with expectant faces. Louis stops by the door and sends them a confused smile, which prompts Anne to stand up and rush towards him.

“Oh, Louis, are you alright? How are you feeling?” she says, rubbing circles on his back.

Louis lets out an exasperated, but fond sigh. “I’m alright, Anne.”

Anne pulls away to look at him. She has the most concerned expression on her face, and it makes Louis fidget on his feet. He glances to Robin still sat at the table, staring at him with the same look. 

“I’m _fine_ , both of you! Eat your dinner, it’s getting cold,” he says half-jokingly as he walks to the kitchen and grabs a plate for himself.

“We were just worried about you, dear," Anne says, following him like a worried, flustered bird. "Are you sure you’re alright?”

“ _Yes_ , Anne, I’m sure.”

Anne and Robin exchange a wordless glance, and Louis pretends not to notice as he takes a seat at the table. 

“They’re sleeping in a hotel on the other side of town.” Anne crosses her hands, fingers fumbling. 

“Okay.” _Dusty_ , Louis thinks. _Where has Dusty gone?_

"Matt will be leaving by Saturday morning.” 

“Alright.”

"We will be having dinner with him tomorrow.”

Louis says nothing for a beat, freezing. “Here?” 

“No, Louis, no, of course not-” Anne rushes to say, but Louis interrupts her before he can think too much about it.

“Well, invite him here. Let’s invite Niall, too. Gemma should come over as well, make it a proper dinner for Matt.”

Anne stares at him dumbfounded. “Are you sure?” 

And Louis thinks it over. Is he sure? Yeah. Yes. Definitely. He’s absolutely fine. He's _moving on._

Once the plates are cleared and Anne and Robin retire to the guest room upstairs, Louis grabs three beers and settles on the couch, curling into himself. He turns the telly on and picks up where he and Harry had finished on Modern Family. Their antics aren't enough to clear the unexplainable ache in Louis' chest.

 _Is it that hard to figure out, though?_ a traitorous voice in Louis' head says. _You_ know _why you still can't let this go._

Louis refuses to allow his mind to go down that road. Thankfully, at that moment, he hears something scratching at the sliding door to his left. He looks over to see Dusty at the foot of the door, her paw set on the glass, looking straight at him with wide eyes.

"Dusty!" A smile tugs at Louis' lips as he walks over to let her in. "Where have you been, love?" He crouches down to scratch at her behind her ear, and she purrs in contentment.

"Do you want me to put some milk out for you?" Louis asks, but then Dusty slinks away and bounds straight up the stairs. At the top, she looks back at him, as if asking Louis to follow her.

Louis chuckles, getting up and climbing the stairs. "What, you found me a rat again? Did you set it down on my pillow like last time?" He had taken a photo of it and sent it to Liam. He was not amused.

Then Dusty pads past his bedroom, and Louis freezes in his spot when she stops in front of the room a little ways down the hallway.

"Why - what are you doing there, love, there's nothing for you there," Louis says, but Dusty just scratches at the door, glaring at Louis accusingly as if to say, _Let me in, human._

So Louis does, and when he opens the door, he coughs a little. Dust has settled all over the room; it has been five years since he last stepped into it, after all.

The light blue crib was still standing there by the left, and a chest of toys sits right at its feet. Louis' heart clenches at the sight of the specially-made musical mobile hanging over the crib. It played Louis and Harry's favorite classical piece, _Le Cygne_ , among others.

Dusty hops up easily to the crib, making the toy chest a stepping stone. She stands on her hind legs and swats at the mobile, and _Le Cygne_ starts to play.

 _That was supposed to be for our baby_ , Louis thinks, unbidden, and desperately wishes all of a sudden that he still had his beer in his hand.

He rushes out of the room and down the stairs, leaving the door open for Dusty to come out when she wants to. Louis downs the rest of his beer in one go and rushes to open the second one, his hands shaking tremendously. He suddenly feels like he can't breathe, and he collapses on the couch, throwing an arm over his face. He can feel a lump at his throat, and he downs the rest of the beer to chase it away.

Before Harry had left, they were planning to adopt a little baby girl, and they were so sure about it that they already had a baby room built into their house. Louis has never stepped foot inside that room since Harry left, unable to handle the flood of thoughts like _what if Harry hadn't left_ and _what if we still had a chance for this future_ crowding his brain and maiming his heart over and over again. They had already decided on her name, Joanna, since it was kind of a mix between the names of his and Harry's moms.

Once Louis' breathing has slowed down to somewhat normal, he gets up from the couch, staring at his shoes for a while. _No, you can't go down this road again, Louis. You're moving on._ A beat passes as he sets down his second can of beer on the coffee table. _Lord knows Harry has already._

At that thought, he breathes out a long, determined sigh. _Yes. Moving on. That is the plan, Louis. Stick to it._

¤

Harry jerks awake to the feel of unfamiliar bedsheets and a too-soft pillow, then relaxes immediately when he realizes he’s in Matt’s arms, in their hotel room. Harry shifts in the bed to turn to Matt, and his fiance stirs but doesn’t wake. The air is comfortably cool around them, their blanket tangled around their intertwined legs. In the haze of the morning, Harry watches Matt sleep for a moment, taking in his dust blonde lashes shivering against his cheekbones.

Harry presses a soft kiss to Matt’s lips, and at that, Matt lets out a soft sound, then tightens his arms around Harry to press him in for a proper kiss.

“Mmm, morning, darling,” Matt says, voice rough.

Harry giggles, nuzzling against his face. “Hi. I’ve missed your morning breath.”

Matt winces, immediately disentangling himself from their embrace. “I don’t miss yours, babe, wow! That smarts. I’m gonna brush my teeth.” Harry laughs after him as he pads over to the bathroom. He’s missed these small nuggets of early morning babbling. He’s sad Matt can’t stay for longer; it’s been great having him here, watching him meld in this particular part of Harry’s world.

He thinks back to the night before, during dinner at Louis’ house. Harry had been so incredibly nervous the moment they got there. Louis had answered the door, wearing a scooped-neck gray sweater that showed off his collarbones and a bit of his _It Is What It Is_ tattoo. Harry had been unable to keep himself from staring at it - _the partner to the butterfly tattoo he couldn’t bear to have removed_ \- and he barely heard the pleasantries exchanged between Louis and Matt. When Louis had let them in, his and Harry’s arms brushed together, and at that Harry almost dropped the bottle of wine he brought.

Harry had been so on edge the whole duration of the night while Matt was a darling to everyone, as usual - he knew how to charm the pants off of anyone. Even Liam, who had looked a bit stoic at first, had loosened up eventually and started to joke around with Matt.

What still continues to throw Harry out of sorts is Louis. Louis had been… polite. Friendly. Warm, even. It’s driving Harry insane. He was so sure Louis was going to do a complete 180 and change his demeanor at some point in the night, to start screaming at Harry and tell Matt about their past relationship.

In reality, Louis had been so open from the moment they got there, more open than Harry had ever seen him since he got here four weeks ago. _Has it really been a month already?_ Despite the stress he felt being around Louis at the beginning, he supposes he has enjoyed his time back home so far. _Time flies when you’re having fun_ , he thinks, as he remembers how he and Louis had just sat quietly in the living room three days ago as Modern Family blared from the telly. It didn’t feel _normal_ , no, it never would go back to normal between them; but it didn’t feel so awkward either.

Harry supposes there may be a truce between the two of them now. That would explain why Louis was so nice to Matt; they had even shared a cigarette at one point in the night, and Harry’s heart beat so fast the whole time as he tried to speculate what they talked about. When Harry had asked Matt later on what he and Louis discussed, Matt waved it off and said Louis just asked him a lot of questions about the band.

 _He’s being nice, but he’s still putting a bit of distance._ Harry can understand why. It’s awkward, at the very least, to be around the man who is with your ex-husband. He still didn’t know what Louis’ relationship was with Liam – there was certainly a familiarity, but he couldn’t quite decide whether they were in a relationship or not. Either way, Harry felt a weird clenching of his stomach whenever Liam talked to him. The way Louis had glanced at him questioningly made Harry think he noticed.

One hour later, Harry pulls up at the Manchester Airport with Matt in the passenger seat. He sees Matt’s entourage already waiting for him at the entrance, and a couple of curious onlookers glance at the bodyguards in suits.

“There’s your babysitters,” Harry jokes, dimpling. Matt rolls his eyes and grabs his face to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love you, babe.”

“I love you too, Matt.”

Then Matt pouts. “Come home soon, please? Our bed misses you.”

Harry bites his lip; he isn’t ready to go back to his normal life just yet, not when he has never felt this comfortable in the past five years. He thinks about mussed-up caramel hair and sleepy blue eyes, and startles himself with his own thoughts. “Maybe two more weeks?”

Matt sighs, but with a fond smile. “Of course, yeah, your family and friends are great. I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave them.”

Something warm spreads across Harry’s belly as he thinks about his family, his nephew, Niall, the twins. Louis. “Yeah, they’re pretty great, aren’t they?”

“I just…” Matt takes both of his hands, pressing a kiss each to the tops of his palms. “I’m so excited to marry you. We could even fly out your family to L.A.!”

Of course. Harry starts when he realizes he hasn’t thought about getting the ring back from Louis. Again, he feels that strong pang of guilt when he sees the excitement shining in Matt’s eyes. “Yes, of course,” Harry says quickly, surging forward to kiss Matt, deeper this time. He tastes familiar, clean, lovely. This is the man he is marrying. “I can’t wait to be your husband.”

Harry waves him off from the car, then takes a deep breath before driving back to Louis’ place. Anne and Robin are already gathering all their things and transferring them back to the house, as pest control called them this morning informing them they’ve finished cleaning. Harry admits to himself he’s a bit sad to leave Louis’ house; there was a certain comfort he felt holing up on the couch with a blanket that smelled a lot like the house, cooking breakfast for everyone every morning. He remembers how Louis had let out a satisfied groan the first morning of their stay when Harry had made them pancakes.

“Pancakes? But waffles are better,” Doris had whined, and Louis looked at her with a pointed look. “No, Doris, pancakes over waffles any day.” Harry had turned back to the stove and flipped another pancake, pleased with himself for remembering that little detail.

Twenty minutes later, Harry arrives at Louis’ house to see Anne and Robin dragging their vacuum out of the front door. Harry rushes over to help, but Anne waves him away.

“Go inside, help Louis with the mattress instead,” she says, and Harry obeys.

The couch is still covered in the pillows and blankets Harry had used, his messy bag still open and shoved under the clear coffee table. The mug he used for tea the past week is still sat on the table, remnants of his tea from last night gone cold. Harry wonders why it hasn’t been cleaned.

He’s about to bound up the stairs when he spots Louis at the top struggling to carry the mattress Anne and Robin had used. He’s muttering under his breath, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, as he tries to wrap his arms around the mattress. Harry tries not to laugh.

“Need any help?” Harry says with a smile, cocking his hip to the side.

Louis looks at him, and Harry feels strange all of a sudden - there’s a tingle at the tips of his fingers and toes, and he suddenly feels like he can’t really breathe; but this feels different from before. His heart rate is speeding up, but instead of wanting to hide away or punch a wall, Harry feels the odd urge to jump up and down or sprint the whole length of the street, to turn and be back in Louis’ house.

“Um, _yes_ , I need help,” Louis huffs out, oblivious to the sudden turmoil under Harry’s skin. “Get over here and help me, you big oaf.”

Harry tries to hide a smile as he gets up the stairs. It’s a tight fit, and he has to squeeze past Louis to get to the other end of the mattress, and in the process knocks a photo off the wall.

“Oh, shit-” Harry fumbles around to catch it, but it slips from his clumsy fingers. It bangs against the steps of the stairs as it tumbles down, the glass immediately shattering all over the staircase.

He and Louis stare at it at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, then Louis huffs again. “Okay, maybe I _don’t_ need your help.”

Harry turns to look at him with a sheepish smile. “I am so sorry, I’ll get it.”

“Be careful with the glass!” Louis says as Harry steps around him and moves to the other side of the staircase, eyes trained on the ground to avoid any rogue shards from piercing the soles of his feet. Harry eventually reaches the bottom of the stairs, and stoops down to pick up the broken picture frame and the photo inside it, but when he sees it clearly, he freezes.

It’s the photo of him and Louis from when they went to see The Script back in 2009. Harry’s hand was cupping Louis’ chin, and Louis had his mouth half-open, eyebrows raised to disappear into his god-awful fringe. Harry gingerly picks it up, shards of glass sliding off the top with light clinking sounds. He carefully dusts it off, and his fingers come to rest on his own face. He has the biggest smile on in the photo, cheeks full and young and pink, eyes squinty and twinkling. It isn’t seen on the photo, but Louis’ arm is wrapped around his waist, and Harry can almost feel the ghost of his fingertips gripping at his side.

“Harry,” Louis says from the top of the stairs, and Harry tries to push down at the ache in his heart. He looks up, and Louis is looking at him with searching eyes. Time seems to stand still between them; Louis is slightly illuminated from the light filtering through the window beside him, bathing him in a soft glow, and his eyes are a deep, shifting cerulean. The tugging at Harry’s heart grows even stronger, and confusion spreads inside him as he tries to process the feeling.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh,” he manages to let out as he holds the picture up. “It was a good concert,” he says lamely.

Louis doesn’t look away, only stares straight back at Harry with his luminous eyes, pinning Harry right where he is, until a soft smile dances at his lips. “Yeah, it was.”

Then Louis looks down and coughs, shifting on his feet, and the moment is broken between them. Harry finds himself still staring at Louis, searching - searching for what?

“Could you, uh,” Louis starts, fidgeting with the mattress again, “could you get us our shoes from the front door? So we don’t get maimed by all the glass.”

Harry feels like he’s floating away from his body, Louis’ words registering very slowly. “Um, yeah, sure, smart,” he rambles. He walks to the front door, setting the photo down on the coffee table before he slips on his trainers and grabs Louis’. He tries to shake away the floaty feeling as he walks back up the stairs, tries not to stare at the other photos of them lined on the wall.

Louis seems to notice his discomfort, and lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, sorry, I should have taken those photos down years ago. I’ll probably get to it tomorrow.”

Harry freezes momentarily as he sets Louis’ shoes on the top step, then looks up at him. He realizes he’s knelt on one knee, and is now looking up at Louis who is staring at him with wide eyes.

“Um,” Harry lets out eloquently, before he scrambles back up to his feet, clearing his throat yet again. 

“Need a lozenge?” Louis asks a little teasingly, sounding a little cautious, as if he doesn’t know how to break the sudden tension in between them both.

Harry chuckles, trying to fight the rabbity jumping of his heart in his ribcage. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Come on, lad, let’s get this back into the storage room,” Louis says, smiling at him, his voice back to normal. Harry probably just imagines that it sounds a bit forced.

They drag the mattress back to the storage room and reenter the house just as Anne and Robin come back. They invite Louis to dinner, but he declines, saying he already has other dinner plans. Harry tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart at that - _what is going on with you, Harry?_

Anne and Robin enjoy a cup of tea each as Louis and Harry, in absolute silence, clean up the glass scattered all over the length of the staircase. Louis is working his way from the top, and Harry studiously avoids looking at him as he waits for his heartbeat to settle into normal.

As he sweeps the shards into a plastic bag, the images on the wall plague his mind. He doesn’t need to see them to remember which ones they are, hung by himself and Louis the day after they moved in. The very first photo at the bottom was of Harry sitting candidly on Louis’ lap, Louis’ hands on both of his shoulders as he peered above them; then there was the photo they had taken when they first moved in, sharing a kiss right at the front door; and the photo of their arms side-by-side showing off their tattoos came next. He doesn’t need to look at the wall to see their prom photo, Louis’ eighteenth, a random one of them at the swings in the park, Louis pressing a hard kiss into Harry’s cheek with Harry smiling bashfully wide.

The turmoil in Harry’s head and heart doesn’t disappear even when they finish cleaning the glass and join Anne and Robin at the table, sipping their own cuppas. He’s quiet in his seat, barely listening to the three of them chat amicably. Harry had been feeling so comfortable lately that the storm inside of him is throwing him off, and he feels like he’s standing over a deep dark pit, unable to look away from the bottomless depths. He glances at Louis when he hears him laugh, and the strange feeling grows tenfold.

He thinks about Matt, probably still on his flight back to America, and he thinks about the ring, probably hidden somewhere in this house. Harry doesn’t know why, but he feels sick to the stomach thinking about asking Louis for it.

_You’re just nervous, Harry. You don’t want to break the peace between you two._

Just as the sky outside starts to darken, he, Anne and Robin stand up to file out of the house. He stands a little awkwardly beside the living room as he watches his parents envelop Louis in big hugs, thanking him for his generosity. Louis smiles at them, radiant even in his apparent tiredness. Then Anne and Robin turn to head home, and it’s only Louis and Harry left in the house.

Once again, for the first time in a month, Harry feels the sudden urge to flee from Louis. He needs to sort out the mess in his brain. “Well. Louis, thank you so much for this whole week,” he says with a slight nod of his head, unable to look at him in the eye. He moves to step around Louis to leave, itching to get out of the house filled with ghosts of their past.

“Wait, Harry,” Louis says, and Harry’s heart picks up once again as he turns around. Louis is looking at him again with those damn cerulean eyes, and it picks apart at Harry’s insides. “I need to show you something.”

Harry’s mind whirls with questions as he follows Louis up the staircase slowly, hanging back a little. _The ring. Is he finally giving it?_ Harry feels a glimmer of something like hope begin to rise in his chest, but then Louis walks past his bedroom door and strides over to the one a few ways across from it. Harry stops in his tracks, his heart immediately jumping to his throat.

Seeing Harry motionless in the hallway, Louis beckons at him with a soft smile as he opens the door and goes in, so Harry follows almost in a trance, his heart beating hard as he enters through the doorway.

The nursery, much like everything Harry had abandoned, is exactly the same as he had left it. The crib sits dusty and achingly empty to the immediate left, and the dresser stands pressed up against the wall on the far right corner. The walls are still colored yellow - a color Harry remembers insisting on - and the chest of toys sits by the foot of the crib. Harry’s heart begins to ache painfully, and before he realizes it tears have sprung to his eyes. The specially made mobile sways slightly over the crib, and he can hear the ghost melody of Le Cygne playing through the room, the ghost cries of what should have been their baby echoing gleefully against the walls. It’s all too much at once; he lets out a choked breath, his hands curling into balled-up fists.

He feels Louis touch his wrist softly, and Harry snaps his head to look at him. With a start, he realizes Louis is also on the verge of tears.

“I never touched the room until a few days ago,” Louis says, his voice hushed, as if they were standing in a sacred place, on hallowed ground.

Harry doesn’t know how he croaks out what he says, but he does. “Why?”

“Why?” Louis looks away from Harry to survey the room, and Harry suddenly and desperately needs Louis’ eyes again to anchor him back to reality. “I… I think I was desperate to hold onto something real. All these years, I’ve been debating on whether or not you really loved me.”

At that, Harry feels a stab in his chest. “But at least I knew for sure that you wanted a baby,” Louis continues, now staring at his feet. Harry sees a single tear slip over his cheek, and Harry has to fight the sudden urge to wipe it off. “I think, in some twisted way, I thought that if I kept this room, there’s still some chance you would want to come back to me.”

Another stab at his heart. “Louis, I-”

“No, Harry, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” Louis looks up at him with a watery smile, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m planning to fix this room up now. Maybe make it a study, or something.”

Harry fumbles with his words, his heart expanding in his chest. “No, no, keep it. You should have it in the future when you have a kid of your own.”

At that, Louis looks at him for a moment, still smiling, but there’s a sadness that Harry catches in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” Louis clears his throat and looks away again, turning on his heel. “I just wanted to show it to you for - I don’t know, closure?” Louis laughs into his hand as Harry follows him, and he can feel the weight of the room bearing down on his shoulders as he leaves it.

“I guess it’s more for my benefit than yours. You’ve moved on, and with such a great person, and I’m happy for you,” Louis continues, and Harry’s overwhelmed with the barrage of confessions spilling from Louis’ lips as they head to the front door. “Guess I just wanted to move on meself.”

 _To move on. Have you really moved on, Harry?_ Harry's fists clench at that thought, because of course, he has. He's built himself a life away from this place, and he's got a boyfriend, and he's _marrying_ that said boyfriend very soon. Of _course_ he's moved on.

But as he bends down to pick up his bag of clothes from underneath the coffee table, he sees the picture of him and Louis once more, and the jumble of thoughts in his brain go live again, like raw tangled wires. He thinks back to the nursery, to _Le Cygne_ waiting to be played for a baby that would never come.

_Stop it, Harry. It's just the house. It's just being in the house that is bringing back all these memories._

The thought calms him down a little as he exits the front door. He smiles at Louis behind him, partially hidden behind the door, and he thinks back to just a month ago when he had stood at this exact spot asking for the ring back.

"Thanks, Lou," Harry says, and the nickname slips out of his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world. "For letting us stay, and being so… you know, um. Nice. To Matt."

Louis gives him a smile, and playfully punches his shoulder. "Of course. Told you I'm trying to be better."

They share a laugh, and then with a small wave, Harry turns around to walk the short distance back to his own childhood home. The sky has considerably dimmed; it was a deep purple, and the air was chilly around him, a light breeze tickling his nose and cheeks. It feels like he's travelled through time to ten years ago, during all the nights he had left Louis' house to walk back home. All of a sudden, the years wedged between the both of them don't feel so massive anymore.

When Harry reaches the street, he turns around all of a sudden, remembering something. “Hey, Lou, remember our best friend signal?”

Louis cocks his head, a smile on his face, looking a bit confused. His figure is lit from behind, and through the shadows Harry can still see the twinkle in Louis' eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

At the same time, they both raise their hands in a thumbs up, crooking their thumbs twice. Harry feels warmth spread over him as he watches Louis break out into a big grin. This feels good, this feels _right_. It's the most peace Harry has felt in what feels like forever.

“See ya around, Styles.”

"See you, Lou.”

¤

Louis spends the next week absolutely busting his arse in every aspect of his life. He's been swamped with clients at work, babysitting Ernest and Doris, going to therapy, and doing his best in contributing to the planning of Gemma and Pete's five-year anniversary party. He's absolutely tired to the bone, and a little snippy. He had been so tired one night that he snapped at Ernest for not cleaning up his toys after himself, nearly causing Louis to fall over and smack his head on the floor. Ernest had run upstairs crying, and Louis had to console him for an hour while Doris watched them angrily. He guesses the protective genes run in his mother's side.

All that being said, therapy is going pretty well. He's had three sessions with Luke so far, and he is nothing Louis imagined therapists would be. He thought Luke would be stuffy, a little old, and quiet, but Luke is the complete opposite - he's young and bright, with a laugh like a firecracker, and Louis had immediately felt comfortable being around him. It took only one session for Louis to dive deep into his relationship with Harry, and he has never talked about his feelings at length with anyone else, not even Niall or Liam, if he didn't have some sort of alcohol in his hand.

He even finds out that they have a lot in common - they both love football, they're both originally from Doncaster, and they both come from big families. Louis finds himself liking Luke instantly, and even thinks that maybe he could start to fancy him in the future. Definitely not now; that would be all sorts of inappropriate.

He's actually just ended having dinner with Luke in London. Luke had asked him out after Louis’ therapy session, and Louis' discomfort must have shown on his face because Luke had laughed and just said he was hungry and didn't like to eat alone. It was a very pleasant dinner, to be honest, and Louis hasn't felt this comfortable around new people in forever. _Trust issues_ , as Luke calls it.

Louis arrives at the Styles-Twist house a lot later than he planned, dinner running for longer than it should have. He sighs as he steps through the front door; they've probably already figured out the whole plan for Gemma and Pete.

He heads into the living room to find only Harry sitting at the couch, watching Modern Family from the telly. Louis smiles to himself for a second. _I've successfully converted Harry from loving that inferno of a show Friends._

"Where's everybody?" Louis says unceremoniously, and Harry almost jumps off of the couch in surprise. Louis smiles, laughter bubbling in his throat. Harry has always been easy to startle; some things never change.

"Jesus, Lou, you scared me," Harry breathes out, fingers clutched to his chest, and Louis can't help but admit how much he loves to hear that nickname slipping from Harry's lips. Harry grabs the remote to lower the volume of the telly a little. "They've all gone to sleep, we got tired planning. Why are you here so late?"

“Oh, uh-" Louis shoves his hands in his pockets, mulling his words over. He doesn't want to tell Harry that he was actually out with his therapist after a therapy session; it sounded weird and off, even to his own ears. "I was just out. With a friend. Lost track of time.”

“Oh? Who, Niall?" Harry perks up. "You should’ve invited me-”

“Uh, no, not Niall.” Louis walks to the breakfast nook to get a soda from the fridge, hoping Harry would just drop the subject.

But of course the universe couldn't care less about Louis' prayers. Harry follows him to the kitchen. “Who was it then?”

“What is this, The Inquisition?”

Harry laughs, and Louis loves how easy it is now between the both of them. It’s not quite what they had in the past - what with both of them being in love with each other back then, and not so much now - but Louis will take what he can get. He recalls the way they did their hand signal for the first time in five years, and how he had gone to bed that night with a peace resting easy in his bones.

“Come on, now, who was it?" Harry pushes, leaning against the doorway to the breakfast nook. "Is it a secret lover?” Harry waggles his eyebrows, and Louis pushes him away playfully.

“ _Harry_ , that’s weird, Jesus," Louis says, laughing nervously.

“Aw, you still want to keep him all to yourself, huh? That’s cute," Harry teases.

“Shut _up_ , Haz! It’s - I had dinner with my therapist.”

A beat passes between them. Harry frowns, confused. He looks like he's trying to calculate for the square root of an insanely big number, and Louis snorts to himself before opening the can of soda and taking a sip. Then Harry asks, “Are you dating your therapist?”

Louis almost spits out his drink. “ _What_? No, of course not.”

Harry's frown deepens. “So why’d you have dinner with him?”

“Because he asked me out.”

“Whoa, there.” Harry has his hands up in the air in a surrender position.

“What?”

Harry draws a line in the air with his finger. “This is professionalism.” Then he brings his hand way up in the air as far as he can stretch it. “And this is your therapist.”

Louis rolls his eyes, pushing his way past Harry to walk back to the living room. “It was just a dinner, Harry, it’s not like it was a date.”

“Still.”

“Can we just drop it?”

Harry huffs. “Fine.”

Louis takes a seat at one of the couch chairs as Harry flops over on the middle couch. The telly is still playing Modern Family, and Louis is grateful for the distraction. He doesn't really know what else to say; maybe he should just go home and take his well-deserved rest.

"You never told me why you were going to therapy," Harry suddenly says, and when Louis looks at him he sees a curious, open look in Harry's eyes.

Louis fidgets in his seat. He had mentioned he was going to therapy a few days ago to Anne while he was dropping off Ernest and Doris here after work, and Harry had heard him from the living room. "Well, um, I mean, you know about my alcoholism," Louis says, still a bit uncomfortable talking about it so candidly. "And… you know, the whole... moving on thing, that whole shebang."

"Ah yes, _that_ whole shebang," Harry repeats slowly before he leans back on the couch, staring at a fixed point just above the telly. Harry is chewing at the inside of his cheek, and it's making his perpetually red lips purse.

Louis needs a distraction, pronto. “Haz, could you take me through what you guys planned today?” he asks, and he seems to startle Harry out of whatever thoughts he's dug himself into.

“Oh yeah, of course.”

Harry explains what they have planned, involving flowers, guests, the venue, and the money. Louis butts in occasionally to give him his two cents, and they get into a spirited debate about flowers. Louis knows his flowers pretty well, and he knows that purple daisies would go better with yellow daffodils and bright pink carnations than whatever monstrosity Harry has thought up.

At one point, Louis is going on and on about how the color scheme should be this instead of that, when he notices that Harry is just staring at him with a slight frown, and he doesn't look like he's listening to Louis at all.

Louis huffs. “What?”

“So is _Liam_ your lover, then?"

Louis lets out a startled laugh; Harry could still be such a goober sometimes. “Ew, no, he’s straight! Focus up, Hazza! What’s with all the questions, mate?” Louis is still laughing by the end of the sentence; the mere thought of he and Liam getting together is the silliest thing he's ever heard.

“Well…" At that, Harry looks down at his fingers, fidgeting with his rings. "I missed the last five years of your life, I just wanted to get to know you again.” Harry shrugs, looking down at his knees, his feet shifty. “I thought we could still be friends.”

A warmth immediately spreads inside Louis’ body, making the tips of his fingers and toes tingle. A fond smile takes over Louis’ face. “Of course, Haz. We can be friends again.” He raises his thumb and crooks it twice, and Harry smiles brightly and does the same.

They spend the rest of the night talking about anything and everything they’ve done the past five years. Louis mostly listens, content to just sit and watch Harry as he regales tales of touring around the world, recording his first album, and navigating the world as a burgeoning pop-rock star. Despite all of that, Harry is still exactly the same, Louis finds himself thinking; he’s still incredibly humble and endearing, fame and wealth doing nothing to stifle his natural charm. He still talks like he has all the time in the world, and Louis feels himself melting into the slow rhythm of his voice. Behind the mug of tea Harry had eventually made him at some point, Louis feels happy right at this moment, curled up on the chair listening to Harry’s stories.

When he leaves the house, waving back to Harry’s silhouette at the front door, he lights up a cigarette by his car first. As he breathes out a column of smoke into the air, he looks up at the night sky. It’s unusually clear today, and he can see the stars and constellations in all their glory. He can almost see the ghost of a fifteen-year old Harry pointing to the sky, his ghost voice naming them all. Louis glances back to the house and watches Harry pack up the living room before he shuts the light and leaves the living room.

Louis stands there for a while, smoking his cigarette as he stares up at the night sky, mouthing all the names of all the constellations Harry had tried to teach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a HUGE load off of my chest. it was such a pleasure writing this whole thing aahhh. hope you've enjoyed it so far. :) kudos and comments are also dearly appreciated x
> 
> here are the songs i've mentioned, by order:
> 
> • i want to hold your hand by the beatles – what harry was humming in the car on the way to the twisty pig  
> • too young by louis tomlinson – yup, gotta add that for the extra oomph of sadness  
> • where do broken hearts go by one direction – because break up song, planting story devices and whatnot  
> • temple by kings of leon – because harry does like this song irl  
> • when you're ready by molly tuttle – because it's just PERFECT for this fic, i freaked when i first heard it. i also take the chapter name from this song!  
> • two of us by louis tomlinson – this song breaks me every time  
> • home by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros – don't you love how harry just randomly sang this while cooking in louis' place? yup :)  
> • kill my mind by louis tomlinson – this song is a BANGER don't argue with me  
> • falling by harry styles – i love planting :)  
> • le cygne by camille saint saëns – the most beautiful, haunting classical piece.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading until now. i'll do my best to upload asap <3


	3. An Open Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess this is where things get... spicy?
> 
> I. AM. BACK!!!
> 
> hello all, again!!! i am so so so terribly sorry for this horribly mega late update :( college became absolute hell and holidays were just about family and now i think i finally have time to write again. i've seen all of your lovely messages and from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank y'all for all the kind and beautiful words! believe me, i may not update a lot but this fic really is my brain baby (more than my thesis hahaha joke) and I think about this fic too much honestly
> 
> so yes, i hope y'all enjoy this chapter, it hurt me to write it, but in the best way possible. i love you all!

_“Is it over?”  
_ _“Yes.”  
_ _“Does she still love you.”  
“Then it’s not over.”_

_— Women; Charles Bukowski_

¤

The Sunday before Gemma and Pete’s anniversary party, Harry finds himself in the passenger seat of Louis’ car on the way to the party venue for a location check before finalizing the reservation. It was a little ways outside of Manchester, one of those castles that have been restored to hold big events and such. It was supposedly one of the most beautiful castles around the country, with spacious ballrooms, high ceilings and glistening chandeliers. Despite the costly prices, Harry immediately jumped to reserve it, knowing Gemma would absolutely love it.

Louis is driving beside him, and Liam and Niall are sitting in the backseat, and Harry never realized how loud the three of them could be all together. They have been singing at the top of their lungs the whole drive there to Louis’ playlist filled with British pop rock and high-energy synth remixes. Harry finds himself glancing at Louis multiple times throughout the drive, revelling in the open laughter that pours out of him.

The whole week has left Harry slightly unhinged; unlike the weeks before, his grandmother’s ring hasn’t left his mind, but along with it are thoughts of Louis, relentless and ever-present. Harry tries not to dwell too much on it. They _have_ been seeing each other a lot lately, he reasons to himself, even more than when Harry had been crashing on his couch.

Harry tries not to think too much about the tingling he feels at the tips of his toes whenever he knows he’s going to see Louis that day, and the lurching of his stomach whenever Louis crooks his thumbs at him twice. He tries not to dwell too much on Louis, his therapist, and _moving on_. Harry has spent a couple of nights staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, unable to sleep, feeling itchy and restless. He couldn’t sleep especially the night before today, knowing that he was going to spend essentially the whole afternoon with Louis.

“Lou, Lou, Lou,” Niall says, poking Louis over and over again at his shoulder. Louis swats his hand away goodnaturedly, which just makes Niall incessantly pat his hair instead.

“Jeez, Niall, did you drink a whole pack of Red Bull or something?” Louis says, laughing. “You’re acting like an overexcited toddler.”

Niall punches him in the shoulder at that, and Louis exclaims, losing control of the wheel for a second. “ _Oi_ , watch it!”

Niall cackles gleefully, wildly, and Liam joins him, the both of them high-fiving in the back. Louis mutters under his breath with a shake of his head, and he and Harry share a look. Louis’ eyes glint with fond exasperation, and Harry grins toothily at him. “Some things never change,” he says, matching Louis’ exasperation.

“You’re _absolutely_ right,” Louis says with conviction, chuckling to himself. Harry feels the strange, buzzing warmth return to his toes, and he tries to tamp it down.

“Anyway,” Niall says loudly from the backseat, "can't we play some Hazza up in this bitch?"

"Who the fuck talks like that?" Liam says incredulously, dissolving into a fit of laughter, oblivious to the way Harry's stomach suddenly clenches.

"Um, I don't think that's a good idea-"

"Oh, come _on_ , Harry, your music is amazing," Liam says, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Go on, play Sign of the Times."

Harry panics a little, knowing how he wrote the song, knowing _who_ he wrote the song for. "Uh, I don't really-"

"My car, my choice of music," Louis cuts in. He hands Harry his phone after unlocking it. "Kiwi, please."

Niall and Liam let out loud whoops from the back, and Harry tries to hide his sigh of relief as he searches for Kiwi on Spotify. He's surprised to see Louis has already added it to his liked songs, and he tries to hide a smile behind his hair.

The first verse starts playing explosively, and the three other boys start singing to it almost immediately. He's secretly pleased that Louis knows all the words and is singing it with absolute vigor.

Just before the song ends, they pull up at the castle venue, and they all let out awed gasps at the sheer size of it. "How the hell are we gonna find our way through that place?" Liam comments.

"It's _beautiful_. Great job picking it, Haz," Louis says as he shuts the car engine, and Harry feels his cheeks warm up at the compliment. "You're helpless with flower arrangements, but at least you've got a good eye for venues."

Harry lets out an indignant gasp, and Louis just laughs at him before unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the car. Despite the underhanded comment, Harry feels a smile splitting his face as he does the same.

The venue agent, Gabrielle, greets them warmly at the huge foyer, though eyes Liam and Niall warily as they bounce around the place like coked-up toddlers. Louis sighs when he follows her gaze. "I'm sorry about them," he says loudly enough for Liam and Niall to hear. "We don't let our dogs out of the house that often."

Harry lets out a loud guffaw at that before slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle it. The crinkly smile Louis sends his way brings tingles down to the tips of Harry's toes _again_. Louis has always known how to make him laugh; Harry's sure that he hasn't laughed as hard as he has in the past week than in the last five years.

"Yes, well, I'm glad they seem to like the place," Gabrielle says bemusedly, shifting her attention to Louis. "I'm Gabrielle, and you must be Mr. Tomlinson."

"Right, and this is-"

"Yes, Mr. Styles, it's _wonderful_ to meet you, I am a big fan," Gabrielle says, her demeanor shifting the moment she turns to Harry standing beside Louis. "Thank you for choosing us for your event."

Harry glances at Louis, sees how he drops the ignored hand he held out for Gabrielle to shake, and indignance flares up inside him for a moment. "Of course, we're very excited for _our_ event," he says unthinkingly, pointedly, and before he realizes it he's reaching out to lightly squeeze Louis' wrist. Louis flinches before he looks down at where Harry's fingers are wrapped around his wrist, before he relaxes and directs a small smile to him. Harry's heart stutters, and he immediately pulls his fingers back.

"Lovely. Would you like to see the ballroom?" Gabrielle says, before leading the four of them down the hallway and through a massive set of highly-polished double doors. She pushes them open, walking in, and Harry lets out a gasp when he first sets eyes on the room.

The pictures do not do the venue justice at all. The first thing that captures Harry's attention when he walks in are the huge windows taking up the whole wall across from them, bathing the spacious ballroom in the bright sunlight. The marbled floor catches the rays of the sun, muting the glow just right that it seems as if the whole room is illuminated in soft yellow from below. The crystal chandeliers hanging from the ornately decorated ceiling twinkle like a million stars. Beyond the windows he can see a balcony overlooking the expanse of the green gardens. It's such a shame the party will be at night, because the whole room is absolutely stunning in the early afternoon, knocking the wind out of Harry's lungs.

"I see you like it," Gabrielle says beside Harry as he catches Louis walking a little ahead of them, surveying the room in awe. Liam and Niall have run out to the balcony, excitedly pointing at something in the gardens. "We usually use this as a wedding venue, but it's good for grand parties such as the one you're planning as well."

Then Harry just kind of zones out after that, barely listening to her ramble on about capacity and guest packages, because Louis is now standing at the center of the room, right under the biggest chandelier. He's gazing up at it with wide eyes, his eyes twinkling with it, oblivious to the way Harry is staring at him unabashedly. Louis seems to glow in this room, his tanned skin absolutely golden under the sunlight against his fitted black turtleneck, the strands of his hair illuminated like a halo. The way his face is profiled against the light from the windows puts the Romantic artwork on the ceiling to absolute shame. His blue eyes are lit in an orange radiance, and all of a sudden Harry's lost the ability to breathe for a whole different reason.

"Beautiful," he whispers unthinkingly under his breath, and Gabrielle turns to him with a questioning look.

"I'm sorry?"

Harry startles out of his thoughts, feeling himself blush. He tears his eyes away from Louis and tries to concentrate at the windows. "Beautiful - beautiful windows," he manages to stammer out, and Gabrielle smiles before she launches into the history of the castle's architecture. Harry's mind is in a whirlwind at the unbidden word that slipped out of his mouth, and he tries to push it out of his mind and not dwell on it.

A few minutes later, Gabrielle leaves the four of them to take a call outside, and Louis immediately rushes to Harry, looking absolutely enthralled with the place. "God, this room is so beautiful! I almost want to just book it for a random event, I don't care."

"Gabrielle says it's good for weddings, too," Harry blurts out, and then immediately wants to eat his own foot.

Louis, still looking around at the room, takes no notice at the way Harry’s cheeks pink up. "You think you'd want to get married here?" Louis asks nonchalantly, not missing a beat.

Harry's heart unwillingly clenches as he stares at Louis' luminous eyes. "Y-yeah, maybe," Harry just replies. He's feeling incredibly flustered, standing in this beautiful ballroom, watching Louis nod as he hums thoughtfully. 

He and Louis walk out to the balcony to where Liam and Niall are, and the three of them gush about the place. Louis sidles up next to a fancy concrete bin and lights up a cigarette, hopping up to sit on the wide balustrade.

"This is an absolutely gorgeous place," Niall says conversationally, leaning on the balustrade. "Gabrielle's easy on the eyes, too."

Louis rolls his eyes as he takes a drag of his cigarette, and Harry tries not to stare at the way his cheeks hollow. "Niall, please don't scare the agent away, not until we've finalized the reservation, at least."

Niall winks. "I can promise nothing."

"How'd you find this place, Harry?" Liam asks, pulling Harry out of his constant Louis staring (for which he is grateful because _what the fuck, Harry, what the hell is going on with you today?_ )

"Oh, a friend recommended it, actually," Harry says shyly. "She… um, she used it for one of her music videos."

Three pairs of eyes widen as they all collectively realize who he's talking about. " _Damn_ , right, you're friends with Taylor Swift," Niall says in an impressed voice, whistling.

"Weren't the both of you dating for a while?" Liam asks, chuckling, and almost subconsciously Harry glances towards Louis at that question. Their eyes meet for a moment before Louis looks away, taking another drag from his cigarette, his uninterested expression not shifting one bit.

"That was actually a stunt," Harry explains to Liam, trying to ignore the fluttering of his heart. "It was at the beginning of my career, and I guess my manager thought it'd be a good idea to have my name introduced into the news."

"More like the tabloids," Louis says haughtily, and Harry's stomach clenches a little, nervous at seeing Louis' reaction. "Can't believe they actually do that to artists. You should fire your manager."

Harry relaxes immediately, and feels a warmth in his belly growing at Louis' protective voice, his frustrated frown. "I did," Harry says. "Couldn't live being famous and not being out and proud. My manager now is great, he's one of the best in the business."

"Zayn, right?" Liam says, and Harry frowns, a little taken aback. "How did you know-?"

Then Gabrielle reappears at the doors opening up to the balcony, calling for him. He turns on his heel to walk towards her, ready to finalize their reservations. Niall follows him, beaming at Gabrielle, and Harry does his best not to roll his eyes at that.

It takes only a short while for the reservation to be finalized, during which Niall tries to flirt with Gabrielle while she remains impassive, looking totally unamused by Niall's pick-up lines. Harry chuckles to himself before he leaves them alone, then heads back towards Louis still sitting on the balustrade. Liam is standing a little ways away, talking to someone on the phone, and Louis is surveying the big windows in front of him with a soft smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Again, Harry's heart clenches, and he doesn't know what to do about the feeling.

"Louis, do you remember," Harry starts, desperate to keep his mind from going in a direction he isn't ready for, "the time you fell out of my bedroom window?"

Louis looks at him, the memory flashing in his eyes, and he laughs, a big-bellied laugh that carries all the way through Harry's chest. "Oh, dear God, _yes_. That was particularly horrifying. You had to drive me to the hospital and you didn't even have a license yet."

"Serves you right for drinking underage," Harry points out, smiling a teasing smile, and Louis mock-gasps.

" _Excuse_ me, Harold, nobody deserves a broken arse over _anything_ ," Louis says, and at that Harry starts laughing uncontrollably, because who the hell breaks a bone in his arse? "Hey!" Louis says indignantly, hopping off the balustrade to swat at Harry. "Stop laughing, you were the one who almost fainted in a panic!"

"Because you were _bleeding_ all over the place," Harry wheezes out, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Who the hell breaks a bone in his arse?"

"I did, and my arse is perfectly fine now, may I remind you," Louis says, his nose up in the air, and Harry starts to nod in assent before he stops himself. He feels himself blush, and Louis notices. He rolls his eyes with a fond smile, turning slightly away from Harry towards the gardens, and he looks like he wants to say something, but decides against it.

After a beat, he leans on the balustrade and asks, "What made you think of that memory?" Harry tries not to stare at the way his back arches in this position, mentally slapping himself for allowing his mind to even go down that road.

"Oh, uh," Harry starts, shrugging. "Dunno, I guess 'cause you were sitting there with your legs swinging," Harry says, gesturing towards the cream, veined marble. "And you were smoking just now, like you were in the car on the way to the hospital."

Louis chuckles, nodding, as if remembering the memory just then. "Right, and I said-"

"' _My last cigarette at seventeen. Tragic_ '," Harry supplies, and Louis looks at him then, the sides of his blue-orange eyes crinkling in the endearing way they do. "You were a drama queen even back then."

Louis lets out an indignant squawk, punching Harry in the shoulder, shouting about how Harry had cried himself to sleep that night because Louis had to be confined in the hospital so if anything, _Harry_ was the drama queen. Harry thinks he shouldn't be this endeared with the way Louis huffs.

The sun is starting to set as they drive back to Holmes Chapel. To everyone's absolute shock, Niall managed to get Gabrielle's number, which he did not shut up about the whole thirty-minute drive back. Liam takes the brunt of it, sat beside Niall and trying (and failing) to look interested as Niall fawns excitedly about possibly bringing her as a date to Gemma and Pete’s party.

“Are you gonna bring Maya?” Harry hears Niall ask Liam, and through the rearview mirror he sees Liam slightly pink up at the mention of that name.

“I haven’t asked her yet, I don’t know if she’ll say yes-”

“Payno, of _course_ she’ll say yes, how dense are you,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been going out for months now, why would she say no?”

Liam smiles to himself at that, reassured. “Alright, alright, I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“Did you know, though,” Louis continues conversationally, sending Harry a wicked smile that makes Harry’s heart thump in his chest, “that Harry here thought we were a couple? _My lover_ , as he called you.”

Harry’s mouth gapes wide open as Liam lets out a delighted chuckle from the back. “Not the first time someone’s thought that, mate,” Liam says, then surges forward towards Louis and grabs his head to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Louis very nearly loses the wheel again. “Christ, the two of you at the back want us all dead!” Louis screeches, and Harry’s stomach hurts with laughter at the wild panic that fills Louis’ eyes.

They drop off Niall and Liam at their respective houses, and it’s a comfortable 15-minute drive back to Harry’s house. An upbeat Gerry Cinnamon song starts to play from Louis’ playlist, a perfect accompaniment to the setting sun and the orange-green trees that they whiz past.

_I carved her name into a sun beam, ‘cause she’s my Sun Queen._

Harry stares out the window, watching the blur of the outside world as they drive by, and despite the absolute comfort he feels being in Louis’ car, he still feels a bit like a live wire. Unbidden, his thoughts drift back to the way Louis had looked standing in the middle of the ballroom, glowing in the sunlight like an angel. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, bewildered at his own thoughts, desperately trying to keep them in check.

But he glances at Louis then, who is humming along to the music, his head slightly bobbing up and down as his fingers tap the wheel to the beat, and Harry succumbs to his traitor of a brain. Louis notices him looking, and sends him a small, happy smile. Harry manages a weak smile at that, feeling hopelessly disjointed.

“You okay, mate?” Louis asks, his eyes trained on the road again, and Harry tries to shake the thoughts away.

“Yeah, just…” Harry searches for the words in his brain. “Just happy.”

Louis’ car slows down to a stop in front of Harry’s house, and the smile he sends Harry’s way is soft, warm, rendering Harry momentarily speechless.

“I’m glad,” Louis says, sincerely.

The universe seems to slow down just then, and Harry is suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. His right hand, resting on his thigh, is achingly close to Louis’ left hand placed on top of the gear stick. Louis’ eyes are a soft, light blue, and Harry feels himself getting sucked into their depths. This day spent with Louis and the other boys has got him feeling floaty and out-of-sorts, high on serotonin and full-bellied laughter.

 _And Louis, standing in the center of the ballroom, luminous and golden_ … Harry's mind picks up like a storm once again as he stares at Louis' face, sees Louis lick his lips almost nervously. They're close, so close that it's physically painful, he can feel it expand in his chest, so close that Harry can just reach out and-

Louis clears his throat, and Harry immediately snaps out of it. He didn't even notice his lifted arm, and quickly drops it back down to his side.

"We've arrived at your destination, sir, it'll be a thousand quid," Louis jokes, but the pink tinge on his cheeks does not go unnoticed.

Harry chuckles nervously as he runs his hand through his hair, purposely leaning back against his seat. Distance. Distance is good. "A _thousand_? What other services am I entitled to?"

It was supposed to be an innocent joke, but Louis now visibly reddens and splutters, and Harry's heart jackrabbits as he fishmouths. They look at each other for a beat, the same expression of alarm reflected in each other's eyes, and they burst out laughing, a little to expend the nervous energy that's suddenly surrounded them. It works just a bit.

"Thanks for the ride," Harry says once their laughter has settled, waiting for his heartbeat to do the same.

"Of course," Louis says, a smile not leaving his face, though his eyes are shifty, looking at everywhere but Harry’s face. Harry wants to slap himself; has he gone and made it all weird for them again? "Now get out, I can't be a driver all day."

Harry nods and, with a small salute, exits the car and walks up towards his house - a comfortable space, his safe zone, where he and his thoughts can finally be put to rest. He wills himself not to turn around and look back at Louis, so he doesn't see how Louis bangs his head on the wheel twice with a frustrated groan before driving off home.

¤

Late Wednesday evening, Louis is sat at his kitchen table alone, staring at a blank piece of paper perched on the wooden surface. As a therapy exercise, Luke tasked him to write a letter to Harry. It should be an open letter, Luke had said, so Louis can write whatever he wants, but for all that Louis is a professional songwriter, he honestly has no damn idea what he wants to write. He's been racking his brain for the past fifteen minutes, twirling the pen in his finger, chewing his bottom lip red.

He groans and puts his head in his hands. Should it be this difficult? Lord knows Louis has had about a million words he’s wanted to say to Harry locked up inside him for the past five years. He has screamed these words into his pillow, shouted them drunk at Liam and Niall, and written them furiously in pieces of paper that have turned into song; it _really_ shouldn't be this difficult.

Maybe he could write that he's trying really hard to move on? Louis shakes his head to himself, impatiently tapping the pen on the table, knowing in his heart that’s a blatant lie. It's been so difficult to focus on _moving on_ with Harry so close to him all the time; Louis can feel himself slipping into how they were before, unable to stop himself from snuggling closer to the warm, comfortable feeling. He tries not to think too hard about how he made things a little weird between them last Sunday when he had stared at Harry for a second too long in the car, believing for a moment of insanity that they were going to kiss. 

Louis groans, dropping his head onto the table. He wishes he could just isolate himself for a while, just so he could get the jumble of his thoughts straight.

But at the same time, Louis doesn't know how he'd react to Harry leaving again. It must be soon, probably after Gemma's party. Louis feels cold all of a sudden at that thought. He wraps himself closer into his jumper, shivering, a bleak feeling washing over him. Frankly, he's afraid of where his own mind would go, afraid of what he might do when Harry leaves again. Louis glances at his refrigerator, emptied out of his bottles of alcohol. Fear grips him then; he never wants to drown in that bottomless pit again.

Louis gets up from his chair and climbs the steps to his room and, against his better judgment, opens his closet. He kneels on the floor and rummages around to the back for an old black shoebox; he knows exactly how it feels in his hands, even if it has been two years since he's held it.

His fingers finally grip its familiar contours, and he pulls out the shoebox with a small grunt of victory. He blows on the dust that has settled at the top, eyes the way the cardboard edges have slightly sagged over the years. With a deep breath, he opens the lid, and there they both are - he and Harry's wedding rings.

They are both in a small wooden box with a clear lid, and when Louis sets his eyes on Harry’s grandmother’s ring his heart clenches. It’s a bit dusty, but the beauty hasn’t faded away at all over the years. The white gold band and the big red ruby still glimmer in the dim light of his room even with age. Its ruby is the exact same one on Louis’ dagger tattoo, the pair to Harry’s rose.

Louis gingerly opens the lid and picks up the ring, turning it over to see the gemstone catch the light. It’s crazy to think how much of each other they have on themselves, painted on their skin, tattooed over their hearts. He chuckles to himself, a little sadly, at how he had told Harry when they were fifteen that he would never want to mar his skin with tattoos. Only a year later, as Gemma’s surprise Christmas gifts to them, they got their first matching tattoos – their first words to each other. Louis smiles at the stupid memory that brought them together, despite the sudden ache spreading across his chest.

He knows he needs to move on. He knows there’s nothing else he can do. It has been five long, hard years, and Harry’s never coming back to him. Harry is going to get _married_ soon, for Christ’s sake. He thinks back to Harry standing in the ballroom, saying he would want to get married in a place like that, and it constricts Louis’ chest so painfully, so acutely, in a way that Louis hasn’t felt so clearly in years.

The ring turns blurry as Louis’ eyes suddenly fill with tears; he knows, in his heart, he needs to let go of the ring to move on. He can’t let it sit in his closet forever, burning a hole through the wood to his chest for the rest of his life. He has the tattoo to remind him of that, at least. 

Sobs begin to fully rack through his body, and he wraps his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth, holding the ring in his fist so tight he can feel it making dents in his skin. Why has it been so incredibly difficult to move on? The full realization of this weakness dawns on him, breaking a dam inside; he is still desperately holding on to his anger and bitterness, and to a some of the best memories they’ve ever had. He cries into his forearms, wretched gasps sounding out from his throat. He refuses to believe this is it, but at the same time he knows he can’t fool himself anymore. He’s _moving on_.

Through his tears, he places the ring inside the box again with shaking fingers and frowns when he hears some crinkling. He takes the jewelry box out and sees a folded piece of paper browned by time. He picks it up, and his eyes widen as he stares at lyrics he wrote five years ago, just before Harry left him.

 _This time, I’m ready to run  
_ _Escape from the city and follow the sun  
_ _‘Cause I wanna be yours  
_ _Don’t you wanna be mine?  
_ _I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night  
_ _This time, I’m ready to run  
_ _Wherever you are is the place I belong  
_ _‘Cause I wanna be free  
_ _And I wanna be yours  
_ _I’ll never look back now; I’m ready to run_

Louis chokes as tears flow from his eyes, teardrops falling onto the paper heavily. He had completely forgotten about this - the song he wrote for Harry after their big fight, the one Louis had planned to sing to Harry to tell him he would follow him anywhere, whether it be in L.A. or here in Cheshire. He never finished it, because Harry was long gone before Louis could write past the chorus.

Louis stuffs the papers back into the box and fumbles for the phone in his pocket, dialing a number frantically. By the third ring, he starts rethinking his actions, but the person on the other end picks up before he can cancel the call.

“Louis! What a great surprise,” Luke says cheerily from the phone, and it twists at Louis’ stomach.

Louis doesn’t say anything, the lump in his throat yet to disappear, and after a second Luke’s softer, subdued voice says, “Hey, Louis, are you okay?”

That somehow breaks the dam yet again, and through sobs and gasps he explains to Luke what’s happening to him right now. He doesn’t know how Luke understands him at all; he’s barely coherent even to his own ears.

“Do you want me to come over?” Luke asks when Louis is done.

 _Oh, god._ “No, no.” Louis sniffs, picking at the hem of his jumper. “Please, you don’t have to, you’re all the way in London–”

“It’s only a two-hour ride, no problem,” Luke says, a smile evident in his voice, and Louis starts to apologize, insisting he really doesn’t need to come, but Luke interrupts him to say, “Louis, it’s totally fine. Tonight can be your therapy session instead of tomorrow, alright?”

Louis stays silent for a second, biting his lip. He is a little nervous at the prospect of Luke coming over; Gemma, having much of the charm of her darling brother, had asked Louis to invite Luke to the party because she wanted to meet him, and he’s been trying to put it off. _No way out now._ “O-okay.”

“I’ll bring some Indian takeaway, yeah? I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Luke says, and Louis manages a weak goodbye before Luke hangs up the phone.

Louis hurriedly wipes at the crusty tears on his face with the edge of his sleeves, sniffing. He places the wooden case back inside the shoebox, his hands shaking as he grabs the lid of the shoebox and closes it harder than necessary. He stuffs it back deep inside his closet, getting on his feet shakily and closing his closet doors.

As he walks back down the stairs, he realizes that he and Harry’s photos are still on the wall – in a sudden frenzy, he grabs the first seven from the wall, clutching them to his chest as he runs to his storage room and chucks them carelessly on a shelf. He runs back in, grabs the rest of the photos and rushes to the storage room again, but in his haste he drops three of them on the grass. He bends down to pick them up – a photo of them on vacation in Cornwall, their photo from The Script concert in a new frame, and one of them holding their friend’s baby Lux in their arms – and stores them in the same place he did the others. He is dangerously close to tears again, as much as he hates it.

He shuts the storage room door behind him, breathing out a shaky breath. _Okay, Louis. One step at a time. You’ll be alright._

He’s sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the piece of paper once more when Luke arrives two hours later. Louis opens his front door to a smiling Luke, holding up a paper bag of Indian food that fills Louis’ home with a comforting smell.

“Hey, alright?” Luke says as Louis lets him in, and Louis stiffens when Luke envelops him in a one-armed hug. Despite the tension in his shoulders, Louis feels comfort in Luke’s hug, warm and familiar, and he allows himself to relax a little.

“Yeah, better now, I guess,” Louis says with a sad little chuckle. “I’m sorry you had to come over so late.”

Luke waves a hand at him. “Don’t apologize, I would’ve just stayed up rewatching Fleabag.”

“Oh, hey, that’s a good show,” Louis says, attempting to be conversational despite the heavy ache still in his chest. The way Luke looks at him then makes him think he isn’t so successful.

They start to settle into the kitchen, pulling out the boxes of food from the plastic as Louis scurries around, thanking Luke for the food. He has a lot of nervous energy inside him, what with his thoughts full of Harry and Luke being here and asking Luke to the party.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I kind of just got a little bit of everything,” Luke says a little bashfully as Louis stares at the spread on the table. Luke smiles at him, and Louis thinks he’s sweet, so nice, and his brain swirls even more with a storm.

“Thanks, I really appreciate this-”

As they settle in their seats, the doorbell suddenly rings. Louis frowns at the door, wondering who could be coming over so late. Maybe it’s Niall with one of his spontaneous visits. He could use a little Niall right now to ease the tension, Louis thinks. Louis apologizes to Luke, signaling he has to answer the door.

He opens it to Harry standing outside, looking sleepy with tousled curly hair and layers of sweaters, _soft soft soft,_ holding a bouquet of flowers.

Louis’ brain short circuits at the sight. _Why the hell is Harry bringing him flowers?_

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, voice soft and gravelly, and it absolutely does not help the tornado in Louis’ stomach. He notices Louis staring at the flowers in his hand, and seems to rush as he says, “Oh, um, this is the arrangement for Gemma’s party. I - I thought I’d bring it over so you could check on it, what with you being the expert and all.” A small smile takes over Harry’s face, but then his gaze wanders over Louis’ shoulder and his smile freezes on his face.

Louis knows Harry has seen Luke, and a strange air descends upon the both of them. Luke must wave at Harry then, because Harry waves with his empty hand, a tight smile on his face.

Louis rushes to say something, _anything_. “Thanks, Harry, the flowers look great,” Louis supplies, grabbing the bouquet from him and pretending to inspect it.

Louis flinches a bit when he feels Harry’s fingers gently brush over his wrist, and when he looks up Harry is looking at him with a pointed stare. Louis flushes, the emotions roiling in his stomach as he stares into his green eyes.

“Alright, well, good night,” Harry says, the pointed look not leaving his face as he turns to leave. Louis frowns, unsure of what it means.

Louis shuts the front door behind him, setting the bouquet of flowers on the couch. It really is a gorgeous arrangement; Louis picked just right.

He walks back to the kitchen, preparing to ask Luke to the party, his heart hammering in his chest at the image of Harry’s burning eyes still clear in his mind.

¤

Harry can’t sleep.

He has been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a good two hours, and yet sleep still doesn’t come to him. He feels itchy, restless, since coming back from Louis’ house two hours ago. He had gone over there with the bouquet of flowers that the florist had just delivered to his doorstep, and he was so excited to share how beautiful it was to Louis that he couldn't wait for the next day to stop by. He was also thinking of maybe bringing up the ring again, and Harry admits it's mostly because he needs to anchor himself again, to remind himself it's the whole reason he's here in the first place.

But then he saw Luke in Louis' kitchen, a dozen boxes of food spread out on the table, and he can’t put his mind to rest knowing Luke is there at Louis’ house, doing God knows what at this late hour.

Is Louis talking to Luke about him? Did he do something to offend Louis yet again? Louis’ eyes had looked puffy; had he been crying? Harry swipes a hand over his tired eyes, remembering last Sunday when he had been too comfortable staring at Louis in Gemma’s party venue. _You made things weird again, you creep._

He glances at the clock on his bedside table - 11:00 PM, it reads. Harry sighs to himself, then gets off his bed and heads for his closet to change into sweatpants and a hoodie. He’ll just go for a jog; might as well try to stave off some of his jittery energy.

He exits his house, plugging in his earphones and breathing in the crisp night air that clears his mind a little. It’s getting colder and colder, and a chill sets in his bones as he begins to jog up the street.

He knows he can’t put off talking to Louis again about his ring. Matt is getting more and more impatient about when Harry can come back, even questioning if he’s got any work done throughout his stay. Harry obviously hasn’t, and he feels guilt spread in his chest. There must be some way to talk to Louis again about it, a way that wouldn’t send Louis running away again; Harry has high hopes for this, since they’ve been more than civil to each other lately. Maybe even friends.

Plus, Louis is moving on, as he had said. Harry wonders if he’s already cleared out the baby room. Despite himself, he feels a tug at his chest at that thought. He noticed a while ago that their pictures were gone from the wall by the stairs, so maybe Louis really has begun to leave their past behind him. Harry can’t explain the strange sobriety that washes over him then.

When Harry nears Louis’ house, he sees a car drive away from the front. _It’s probably Luke’s car._ A strange nervousness picks up Harry’s heart as he jogs nearer and nearer to Louis’ front door. He spots Louis standing just outside, leaning against the door, watching Luke' car drive off. Then Louis notices Harry’s nearing silhouette, and waves at him.

Louis lights up a cigarette as Harry stops in front of him, panting a little, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart. They stand in the dim light of the front door, and it hasn’t been this uncomfortable between them for a while. Harry feels the urge to say something to break the silence.

“So… that was Luke, huh?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, voice quiet, staring distantly into the street as he blows out a cloud of smoke.

Harry fumbles for words. “You guys had dinner plans again.”

Louis chuckles, flicking the ash off the head of his cigarette. “I wouldn’t call it a _plan_.”

Harry feels the strange need to push, to _know_. “Then what was that?”

Louis shoots him a confused look, as if wondering why Harry’s asking him all these questions. Harry wouldn’t be able to tell him why even if he tried. “I had a therapy session tonight.”

“Really? Aren’t your sessions every Thursdays and Saturdays? And why is it so late at night? And in your house?” Harry rushes out, unable to stop the barrage of questions in his brain.

“Alright, alright, simmer down, detective,” Louis says, laughing a little. “You caught me. He came over because I - ah, I had an episode.”

Louis looks smaller, somehow, picking at the hem of his jumper, refusing to look Harry in the eye. Worry spreads in Harry at his words; he wants to comfort Louis, wants to give him a hug. He clenches his fist before he does something stupid like that. “What… what happened?"

Louis keeps his eyes averted, uncharacteristically withdrawn, body angling away from Harry. He wants to shake Louis, to make him _look_ at him.

"It's just a lot, you know?" As if hearing Harry's thoughts, Louis looks up at him, a rueful, sad little smile on his lips. "This whole therapy thing. They never tell you how rough it actually is."

Harry slowly nods, his chest clenching painfully. "Lou, I'm sorry," he says, overcome suddenly with guilt.

Again, Louis looks away as he kills his cigarette with the bottom of his trainers. "Don't be," he says simply, still smiling sadly. "It's not your fault. Not anymore."

Harry feels a lump form in his throat, and he feels his fingers flex involuntarily as he fights the urge to envelop Louis in a hug. The pain in Louis' eyes is there, as clear as day, and Harry needs it gone. "Are you okay now?"

Louis chuckles a bit, swiping the ashes on the ground absentmindedly with his foot. "Yeah, yeah. Luke knew exactly how to help me out." A beat passes between them, then Louis shoots Harry a pointed look. "With _therapy_ , just to be clear."

Harry giggles, and they share a laugh, soft and a bit subdued, but one that is grateful for the company. As Louis keeps his eyes trained on the ground, Harry openly watches him, taking in his now-fuller cheekbones and slightly tousled hair. They've been through so much together these past weeks, but Harry needs to be closer, to _feel_ even closer than he does now.

Breaking, Harry spreads his arms out wide, and Louis looks at him with slight confusion. "May I?" Harry asks, and it dawns on him for a moment how stupid he might look, standing there with his arms out open wide in the middle of the night.

But Louis ducks his head as he nods, and Harry spots a small smile on his lips as he mutters his assent. Time seems to slow down as Harry steps forward and closes the distance between them, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Harry wraps his arms around Louis, holding him close to his chest.

Louis' arms come around Harry's waist, and Harry doesn't miss the way Louis snuggles into his chest even more. Harry buries his nose into Louis' hair, breathing him in. Louis is warm in his arms, slotted just right in the space between, and for all the years that have stood between them it feels like coming home after a long hard day, like the moment your cold feet warm up under the blanket as you fall asleep. Only the stars are witness to the way Harry infinitesimally tightens his arms around Louis, to the way his eyes close and his lips let out a sigh as he allows himself to live in their embrace. His heart is racing, and he wonders if Louis can feel it.

Harry allows himself this one moment of weakness, of submission, to the storm in his mind and stomach brought by _Louis._

¤

After weeks of planning, the eve of Gemma and Pete's anniversary finally arrives. Louis' modest home is mind-numbingly busy - his sisters have claimed the breakfast nook as their space, doing each others' hair and make-up as they blast pop music from their portable speakers. Louis is sat at the piano, trying to get Ernest to stay still so he can loop his little tie just right as the little boy looks on jealous at Doris, who has been screeching through her violin on the floor, getting her dress all wrinkled despite Louis pleading with her to be careful. Niall is sat at the couch sipping a beer, being entirely unhelpful as he watches an old footie game on the telly a little too loudly for Louis' burgeoning headache.

"Doris, please don't wrinkle that dress, I ironed it myself!" Louis calls to her, though she doesn't hear it over the flurry of noise screeching from her instrument. Louis sighs dramatically; they have to leave in ten minutes. At this rate, they're going to be incredibly late. "Niall, a little help here, please?"

"No, you're doing great there, Lou," Niall says, not tearing his eyes from the screen. Louis rolls his eyes, exasperated, when finally Ernest stands still for long enough for him to finish with his tie. "There!" He leads Ernest to his sisters, telling them to make sure he doesn't mess up his outfit, when the doorbell rings.

Louis rushes to Doris first, taking the instrument gently from her hands with only one squeak of indignance from the little girl. He sets the violin down on the couch chair and picks her up, carrying her in one arm as he ambles to the door, fussing with her skirt to iron out the pleats as best as he can.

Then he opens the door, and Louis finds that he suddenly couldn't care less about wrinkly skirts or the cacophony of noise behind him, because Harry is standing at his front door, clad gorgeously in a red and black, slightly glittery floral suit that clings to his body in all the right places. His black inner is buttoned up to the collar, accentuating his jawline, and his hair, usually wild, is done up to an elegant coiff with a little curling at the nape of his neck, making Louis' stomach swoop. Louis' mouth goes dry when he sees Harry's wearing a fucking silver dangling earring in his left ear, and a tad too many rings on his fingers. He also has black nail polish on. _Nail polish, Christ._

Louis only realizes he's been gaping at Harry when Harry looks over his shoulder in confusion. "Louis?"

Louis feels warm all over; he adjusts his tie, suddenly feeling like he's choking. "Harry! Hi, you're just in time, come in, come in," Louis rambles, flustered. The hug they shared a few days back suddenly comes rushing back to him - the way Harry had looked so hopeful as he asked for the hug, the way he smelled when Louis pressed his face into his strong chest, how they both had settled into the hug so quickly and perfectly like their bodies were molded to complete each other.

Louis feels his face heat up, and he would've pinched himself if he didn't have his little sister in his arms. _Moving on, Louis, you're moving on!_

"Hi, Doris," Harry coos at her as he leans forward, and Louis tries his best not to flinch away when Harry gets up and close, pinching Doris' cheeks. "You look beautiful in that dress."

Louis rolls his eyes, having found his voice again. "It would be, if she didn't wrinkle it all up," he says with a pointed look at her, then she pouts and presses a kiss to Louis' cheek.

"Sowwy, Lou," she says in a small voice, and Louis beams at her, endeared.

"It's fine, love, _you_ make the dress beautiful, not the other way around," Louis says, tucking her wavy brown hair behind her ear. She giggles, then he sets her down, telling her to stay with Ernest until they leave.

He straightens up to find Harry smiling at him, and he quirks a questioning eyebrow as he does his best to calm his heartbeat down. Louis is mildly successful.

"You've always been good with kids," Harry says simply, and Louis promptly, completely fails at calming his heart down. He feels his face heat up, and he has no words to say, not when he's already rendered speechless by the suit, the hair, the nails, the _earring_ \- it's all a bit too much, and Louis thinks he might actually combust.

Thankfully, Niall decides that's the time to swoop in and save Louis. "Haz! Did you come to pick us up?" Niall says heartily, giving Harry a one-armed hug.

"Yeah, I'm gonna drive some of you up to the venue," Harry replies, and Louis can't stop fucking staring, and he's now only just realized Harry has blue glitter subtly swiped across his eye lid, fucking _eyeshadow-_

"Who am I driving?" Harry asks, turning to Louis, and Louis has to find his voice for a second before he can speak.

"You can either take the girls, or the twins, Liam and Niall," Louis says, and even to his ears he doesn't sound like he's about to explode. Good.

"Oh, I'd love to take the girls, I haven't spoken to them in so long," Harry says with a small smile, fidgeting with his rings in the way Louis knows he does when he's nervous. Louis tries to tamp down the warm feeling he gets at what Harry just said.

"Great, lovely," Louis says, forcing a smile. "Girls! Harry's here!"

Three sets of gasps ensue. "Harry!" Lottie, Phoebe and Daisy all flock to Harry, greeting him like he was a long-lost friend - which isn't so far off from the truth. Just weeks ago Louis would have scowled at the conversation, probably done something to tear his sisters away from Harry, but now, he's completely fine.

Not as fine as Harry in that suit, though.

“Close your mouth, you’re fuckin’ drooling, mate,” Niall whispers in his ear, laughter in his voice.

Louis feels his face flush and immediately swats at Niall, catching the side of his head. “Shut the fuck up!” Niall just cracks up loudly, and Louis sees Harry glance towards them with a curious look on his face. Louis' face is burning. He might actually murder Niall.

Liam gets there just in time, apologizing about being late because of a work thing, and they all file out of the house, a frenzy of limbs and loud voices. The night air is chill, and Louis shivers a bit as he closes the front door and locks it behind him. His eyes rest on the two lovebirds carved into the wood, remembers those two exact lovebirds tattooed on Harry's chest, and his heart lurches. He wonders if Harry got them removed.

Louis tries to interact with Liam, Niall and the twins in the car on the way to the party, but he can't bring himself to - his mind is full of _Harry, Harry, Harry._ He desperately tries to push him out of his mind, but fails.

He hasn’t told anyone either that he asked Luke to come to the party tonight. Louis didn’t miss the way Luke’s face had lit up when Louis invited him a few days ago, and the fact that he’s going to be there tonight is making Louis feel strange.

At least he could talk to Luke about sorting his brain out in regards to Harry, since he can’t stop fucking thinking about how he good he looks tonight.

He parks his car right beside Harry's rented one, and watches Harry step out of the driver's seat as graceful as a Gucci model, eyes alight with laughter as he jokes around with the Tomlinson sisters.

"Louis!"

Louis looks over his shoulder to see Luke jogging over to him, looking smart in a dark blue suit with a white, open collar button down. Louis smiles, relieved at the distraction.

"Luke! Glad you could make it," Louis says, and then gives him a brief hug. Luke hugs him tight, probably for a second longer than necessary. When they pull away, Louis involuntarily finds his gaze wandering towards Harry behind him. Their eyes lock for a second, but Harry looks quickly away, and Louis can't see the expression on his face as he walks up to Liam and Maya, who had also just arrived.

Louis' heart clenches, and he sighs. This is going to be a long night.

¤

The party is in full swing, and it's going swimmingly well. The ballroom is absolutely stunning at night, the marble floors glimmering from the chandeliers above like a million stars at his feet. Louis' flower arrangements are absolutely stunning, making the room look even more lavish and celebratory. Gemma actually shed a few tears the moment she saw the place, and enveloped Harry in a tight hug as she whisper-sobbed her gratitude in his ear.

Harry's now sitting at the Styles-Twist family table, a little exhausted from dancing with Ernest and Doris for the past thirty minutes. He thought his legs were going to fall off when Ernest and Doris didn't seem to tire when the sixth song started, but Lottie thankfully whisked them both away so they could finish their dinner, winking at Harry.

Harry is downing his second glass of champagne in a row, and he's already feeling a bit tipsy, what with the bottle of champagne he drank essentially by himself with dinner. His eyes wander around the room, and he allows himself to settle in his seat, content with observing everyone for a while. Robin is off at the dance floor, carrying little baby Eric and swinging him around to the music. Anne has settled in one of the tables with Harry's relatives, talking animatedly with her hands waving about. Liam and Maya are sat with the Tomlinson sisters, while Niall and Gabrielle are nowhere to be seen; Harry does _not_ want to know what they're doing. Gemma and Pete are at the table with their friends from work, laughing uproariously as Gemma mimes something that looks like it involves a roller coaster. Pete looks on at her silently, lovingly, and Harry wants that - the safety and comfort of someone he can always come home to.

Harry then catches sight of Louis, weaving through the tables and coming over to Robin on the dance floor a few paces away from Harry's table. Luke follows closely behind him. Luke and Harry finally officially met a few hours ago, and he had to admit Luke seemed like a really nice bloke - polite, quietly charming, disarming when he wants to be. Harry doesn't know why the hell it infuriates him whenever he sees Louis cracking up at his jokes or touching his arm in a way that looks more than familiar. _He's being incredibly unprofessional with Louis. You hate unprofessional people_ , Harry reasons to himself.

Louis has taken Eric from Robin's arms, and Harry's heart clenches with an unfamiliar tug as he stares from his seat, Louis shimmering like a star in the middle of the dance floor. He's wearing a sharp blue suit that hugs his waist, but somehow the only word that fills Harry's mind as he looks on is _golden_ \- golden hair, golden skin, golden smile.

Suddenly, their eyes meet from across the floor, and Harry is too startled to look away. Louis leans over to Luke to whisper something in his ear, and Luke looks frustrated, shaking his head, but Louis ignores him and gives Eric back to Robin before he starts to walk towards Harry's table. Harry finds he cannot tear his gaze from Louis, who is fidgeting with his jacket as he smiles at Harry, stopping just a feet away from where Harry's sitting. Dimly, Harry hears the band start to play a soft, slow ballad, and registers that a few couples have gotten off their seats headed for the dance floor, when suddenly they all disappear because Louis is leaning slightly forward, offering his hand for Harry to take, his blue eyes somehow simultaneously intense and as soft as Harry has ever seen them.

"May I have this dance, Mr. Styles?" Louis asks with a little a quirk in his lips, and Harry can only stare at him dumbly, a little shocked. Louis falters a little, seemingly caught off guard, but quickly covers it up. "C'mon, I know you love this song," Louis insists, and Harry realizes they're playing an all-strings version of his favorite Radiohead song.

Harry clears his throat, trying to think up something clever to say. "Why, thank you, Mr. Tomlinson, for your generosity. You must have noticed I do not have a date, and pitied me enough to offer to dance with a two-left-footed giant," Harry says, and is thankful when Louis laughs. Harry revels in the sound, in the way it makes Louis’ eyes crinkle.

"Alright, H, come on up," Louis says, nodding his head just once, and Harry smiles at him as he slips his hand in Louis'. He tries not to think too much about how they slot together perfectly as Louis leads Harry to the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by couples swaying slowly to the music.

They stand there awkwardly for a second, and Harry suddenly realizes he has no idea where to put his hands. When they used to slow dance in their living room, they had always hugged each other close, no need for any formality with the way they held each other. Harry's palms are sweaty, and he must look nervous as he fidgets with his hands, probably looking like a confused robot.

Louis laughs softly, then takes one of Harry's hands and places it on his hip. Harry's heart is thundering in his chest as Louis takes his other hand and guides them both upwards. Harry can feel where Louis' hand is burning a hole on Harry's shoulder, and Harry feels like he's in a daze as they begin to move. Harry's grateful that Louis doesn't seem to mind taking the lead, because Harry can do fuck all right now with Louis standing so close to him Harry can smell his cologne, see his eyelashes clearly, count the flecks in his eyes.

"So…" Harry starts, desperate to fill the intense silence between them. "I met your date. He seems nice."

Louis snorts, graceful as he leads Harry through the sweet sweeps of the violinist's bow. "Who, Luke? He's not my date."

"So who's his date?"

"No one, Haz." Louis rolls his eyes, smiling as he leads Harry into a small twirl. Harry follows his movements, a little breathless at how flawless they move. "I didn't even think to invite him," Louis says. "That would've just been awkward, honestly, but your sister wanted to meet him."

 _Damn it, Gemma._ Harry nods in understanding as they come together once more, his hand settling again on the curve of Louis' waist. "I see. He seems really nice, though, exactly your type."

Harry searches Louis' eyes, looking for some kind of reaction, but Louis only shrugs and squeezes Harry's shoulder slightly. "Sure, he is." Harry's heart does a flip in his stomach before Louis continues. "Not really looking for anyone right now, though."

Louis' eyes burn into Harry's own, and Harry cannot look away as he watches Louis suck his bottom lip into his mouth. Harry is speechless, breathless, as the song begins to crest towards its end. With it, Harry feels like he's being swept away in the ocean of Louis' eyes. There's a strange burning in his chest, and he barely notices that they have inched closer and closer until their foreheads are almost pressed together, their chests nearly touching. Louis is looking up at him, a small smile on his lips, and Harry feels like there's a monster pounding at his chest. They don't stop swaying in tandem, not even when the music stops and another slow song picks up. Harry doesn't know how many songs pass because he is burning up from drinking Louis in - how beautiful he looks right in front of him, how sinful his lips are as Louis darts his tongue out to wet them, the cut of his cheekbones and the curve of his waist under Harry's hand.

And Louis is staring right back at him, his eyes impossibly soft, his hand fitting perfectly in Harry’s. Everything Harry sees, feels, breathes is _Louis Louis Louis_ , and _Luke isn't his date,_ and _he's not looking for anyone right now._ The storm in this stomach threatens to take over, crushing him helpless against its strong waves. Their noses are starting to brush together, and Louis looks down for a millisecond, a bashful smile taking over his lips, and Harry is overwhelmed at _how beautiful, how soft, how absolutely lovely-_

The song then crescendos to a stop, and Harry is immediately pulled back to reality, feeling like a bucket of cold water was just dumped over his head. He steps backward, turning rigid, and Louis looks at him, openly confused. It clenches at Harry’s heart; Harry needs to get away, quick.

“It’s hot,” Harry explains, and it is, he feels like he’s burning in his suit, and when he lets go of Louis’ waist and hand he tries to push away the sudden emptiness he feels. “I’ll just get some water. I’ll - I’ll be back, I promise.”

Louis is still looking at him with a bewildered expression on his face as he nods mutely, and Harry immediately turns around and heads to the drinks table. A server is nowhere to be found, so he just grabs a pitcher of water and pours it in a glass. He gulps it all down, but it does nothing to help cool off his body and his thoughts. He needs some air.

After pouring himself another glass of water, he exits the ballroom and steps out onto the huge terrace overlooking the palace gardens. He leans against the balustrade, closing his eyes and breathing in the chill night air. It’s impossibly cold, but he doesn’t care; the chill is helping the heat sizzle off. His heartbeat is still pounding erratically in his chest as he downs his glass of water once more, and this time when he closes his eyes, he can see Louis’ eyes burning straight back at him, intense like the sunlight dancing off the sea.

Harry opens his eyes in shock, and sets the glass down harder than necessary on the balustrade. He places both of his hands on the cool marble and hangs his head down between his shoulders, breathing heavily. _What the hell was that?_ Louis had looked so beautiful, dancing in his arms with the grace only he could have, and Harry is hopelessly confused, because he can see Matt in his head too, _his fiancé,_ smiling at him, waiting for him to come home to L.A.

_Is that really where home is, Harry?_

“Harry.”

Harry positively jumps out of his skin as he whirls around, and finds Lottie standing behind him. She looks stunning tonight in a shimmery green dress, her hair done up in an elegantly messy bun, and she is smiling at Harry as she wraps someone’s suit jacket tighter around her shoulders. Harry realizes it’s Luke’s, and feels a stab of jealousy in his heart.

“Lottie,” Harry says in greeting, tamping down that incredibly irrational feeling, and moves to press a kiss to her cheek. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

“I was going to ask you the same,” Lottie says, laughing a little, and Harry manages a weak chuckle. She’s right, he must look like a loon standing outside in the freezing pre-winter cold.

“Just needed air, I guess,” Harry says, shrugging.

Lottie smiles at him, then walks toward the balustrade, propping her elbows on it. Harry follows her, mimicking her position right beside her.

“I never congratulated you on your engagement,” Lottie says conversationally. “Well, here it is, I guess.”

Harry laughs. “Thanks, Lotts, it means a lot. Truly.”

A beat of silence passes between them, and then Lottie suddenly says, “Are you happy with him?”

Harry is slightly caught off-guard by the sudden intimate question. “Um - yeah, of course, we’ve been together for two years.”

Lottie nods, humming. Another stretch of silence passes between them, and Harry feels his heart begin to pound hard in his chest again. He _is_ happy with Matt. Of course he is. He is the whole reason he even came back to Cheshire, so that they could finally get married. This was all for Matt.

“Louis’ happy for you, you know.”

Harry’s heart clenches once again at the mention of Louis, and Harry carefully looks away from Lottie, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. “Y-yeah, he told me. I’m really glad we’re starting to move on.”

“Me, too,” Lottie says, sighing. “You didn’t see how he was in the immediate months after you left, and I’m kind of glad you didn’t. Louis was an absolute train wreck.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” Harry mumbles, the pain in his chest expanding. “I just wish there were something I could do to help him, you know, to make up for all the shit I’ve given him-”

“I don’t think you have to, love,” Lottie says, shaking her head. She turns to look at him then, and places a hand on his arm. He looks at her, and she is looking at him with a soft look in her eyes, and they are so similar to her brother’s that Harry feels weak in the knees all over again. “Louis is doing so much better now, and it’s partly because of you, I think.” She lets go of Harry’s arm and leans again on the balustrade. “I think you being here made him realize he can’t keep living in the past.”

Harry nods slowly, not knowing what to say to that. _He can’t keep living in the past._ Harry’s mind wanders unwillingly back to him and Louis dancing in the ballroom, locked in an almost-embrace, and Harry can’t help but think it was so achingly close to how they used to dance in their living room all those years ago - when the whole world would just fade away and it would be as if it was just the two of them in the universe.

“Well, I’m very happy for you, Haz,” Lottie says, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “You and Louis definitely look like you’ve patched things up, no one could take their eyes off the both of you on the dance floor just now.”

Harry laughs nervously, flushing, running a hand through his now-disheveled hair. “Yeah, only because he’s finally stopped screaming at me.”

At that, Lottie just smiles at him knowingly, and it pierces straight through Harry’s heart. Before he can say anything else, Louis suddenly bounds out onto the terrace from the doors, and immediately wraps his arms around himself, shivering. Harry feels frozen on his spot as he watches Louis cuddle closer to his sister, pulling her close, radiating sunshine even in the dark, cold night. 

“Come on in, Lotts, you owe me a dance. Plus, it’s freezing!” Louis says, his cheeks already pinched from the cold. Harry wants to rub them in his hands, and then promptly wants to hide under one of the tables inside forever for having that thought.

Lottie acquiesces, and as they walk back into the ballroom, Louis turns back towards Harry and throws a cheeky wink at him, calling, “You also still owe me a dance, H!” Then they leave, and Harry is left standing alone on the terrace, cold and aching under the starry sky.

¤

It's fifteen minutes to midnight, when their reservation time would be up, and most of the guests have left. The ballroom is dimmer now, with some lights shut off, and a few kids are running around on the dance floor, ecstatic that they've been allowed to stay up so late.

Louis spots Niall and Gabrielle sat at an empty table, and makes his way towards them. "Hey, you two, I feel like I haven't seen either of you so much tonight," Louis says as he gets to the table, pulling a chair out for himself and plopping down on it, a bit tired. The night was a success, and all he wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep in.

At his words, he catches Gabrielle slightly pink up, and when Louis shoots Niall a questioning look, Niall waggles his eyebrows suggestively and sticks his tongue out. Louis groans, laughing a little, slapping a hand over his eyes. "Jesus, guys, where did you even go?"

Niall laughs loudly, then pushes something to Louis from across the table. "Here's a little clue."

It's Louis' fucking car keys. Louis snatches it off the table, eyes wide with disbelief. " _Niall!_ You have absolutely _no_ class." Louis turns to Gabrielle with an exasperated squawk. "Gabrielle, really? You seem like an absolutely lovely girl. Are you sure _this-_ " Louis sticks a finger towards Niall's direction, and Niall slaps it away- "is the right decision?"

"It was fun," Gabrielle mumbles, smiling shyly, then looks at Niall before they share a deep kiss. Louis rolls his eyes and sticks a finger in his mouth, fake gagging.

"What's going on here?" he hears Liam say behind him, and Louis turns to him as Liam settles in the seat to his right. Maya had just left, and Louis sees the happy flush in Liam's cheeks from the night.

"Niall and Gabrielle stole my car keys and had sex in my car. There, you're caught up," Louis says monotonously, then Niall laughs uproariously and Gabrielle blushes once more.

Liam grins at Louis mischievously. "I know, I'm the one who stole your keys."

Once more, Louis squawks indignantly as he slaps Liam's shoulder over and over again, Liam laughing as he tries to protect himself from Louis' offending hands.

"Stop, stop!" Liam pleads, gasping, and Louis acquiesces, crossing his arms and sticking his tongue out to Liam. "Mature," Liam comments, then yelps when Louis punches him square on the shoulder.

They settle in a comfortable silence at the table, Niall and Gabrielle whispering and giggling into each others' ears and Liam sipping his champagne as he scrolls through his phone. Louis stares at the alcohol for a moment, feeling a little tug towards it, but refuses to indulge the feeling. He hasn't had one drop of alcohol tonight, and it's making his heart soar. He thought he'd need it to get through a whole event interacting with people for nearly five hours, and he's proud he didn't succumb to his urge.

He spots Harry by the huge double doors, and watches as he embraces his relatives before they leave. He bends down and hugs a little girl, then whisks her up in the air as he makes one twirl. She's giggling even as he sets her back down, even as her mum grabs her hand and leads her out. Harry has a happy flush on his face as he waves goodbye, his curls a tad wilder than they were five hours ago, and Louis feels his insides warm up again as he stares at Harry's ringed fingers. He can still feel them on his waist, like a ghost's touch, from when they danced on the floor hours ago.

"So… what was that with Harry, mate?" Liam says beside him, snapping Louis out of his thoughts. He glances at Liam, who is looking at him pointedly, and Louis flushes, knowing he just got caught staring.

"What do you mean?" Louis asks, even if he knows exactly what Liam means.

"You and him, you know, slow dancing," Liam says a little cautiously, nodding towards Harry's direction. "You were both all close and… you know, intimate."

Louis frowns, getting a bit defensive as his heart rate begins to pick up. "No, we weren't."

"Yeah, you were," Niall chimes in, and Louis glances at him, finding Niall and Gabrielle looking at him as well. Louis suddenly feels like he's being put on the spot, and he squirms in his seat uncomfortably.

"We were _not,_ " Louis repeats, though he feels a flush rise in his cheeks as his mind wanders to Harry's face getting way too close for comfort, how his green eyes went all intense as they stared into Louis', at the way his thighs had brushed against Louis' as they danced. "It was a normal dance. You know, just a blast from the past. Lads reminiscing. _Platonic_ lads, obviously."

Niall and Liam both roll their eyes. "Obviously," Liam quips beside him, and Louis glares at him as Gabrielle asks Niall what's going on. Niall whispers something in her ear, and her eyes widen as she looks at Louis.

It's Louis' turn to roll his eyes. "Well, don't _gossip_ about me, Niall," Louis says exasperatedly, trying desperately to push Harry out of his mind.

"Can't be gossip if you're right in front of me," Niall says, smiling unabashedly, and Louis sighs, turning towards Gabrielle.

" _Yes,_ Gabrielle, Harry and I used to go out and we almost got married five years ago, but that's all over now," Louis says, gesturing more wildly than he meant. "We're just friends now, okay."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I thought-" When Gabrielle finds everyone looking at her expectantly, she blushes yet again. "You know what, never mind."

"You thought they had something going on because of how they were dancing, right?" Liam asks, encouraging her, and Louis shoots another glare at him as he swats again at Liam.

"Actually, no," Gabrielle answers, and Louis smiles at Liam triumphantly, about to boast about his tiny victory, when Gabrielle continues, "That wasn't the reason I thought they had a thing."

Louis' head whips to look at her, and Niall's eyebrows shoot up. "Why, then, babe?"

Gabrielle continues, hesitantly, "It was actually when you four came to look at the place last week. He couldn't stop staring at you." She's looking straight at Louis, and Louis thinks it's impossible that she's talking about him. Then she raises both hands as if in surrender, saying, "I don't know, it's just something I noticed."

Liam turns to look at Louis pointedly, but Louis barely notices because his mind is spinning. _Harry was staring at me?_ He finds Harry a few tables away, shaking people's hands, and his heart clenches in his chest. _No. That's impossible._

"You - you must be mistaken," Louis stammers, wrenching his eyes away from Harry. "Harry's my friend. _And_ he's getting married soon."

A beat of silence passes over all of them, and then Liam says, "Then why the hell did you ask him to dance with you?"

"I don't know!" Louis says exasperatedly, throwing his hands in the air. It was just such a fun night, and Louis had been enjoying himself so much roaming around and talking to people, and Harry had just been so lovely with his sisters and the twins, just _overall_ being his lovely self that Louis barely stopped to think before he asked Harry to dance with him. He _knew_ , deep within, why he did it, but damn him to hell if he would ever admit it in front of anyone. "I don't know. Just - just drop it, okay, it's not a big deal."

"What did Luke have to say about it?" Liam presses on, and Louis sighs, getting a bit irritable.

"Well, he didn't say it _wasn't_ a good idea-"

"C'mon, Lou," Liam says, and the tone in his voice makes Louis look at him. Gone is the mirth from Liam's eyes; it's been replaced by concern, and kindness. Louis feels sick; it's the exact expression everyone used to look at him with five years ago. "What are you doing, mate? Doesn't… doesn't this just make it harder for you?"

Louis looks away from Liam at the question, his fingers fidgety, when he spots Harry standing beside Lottie playing with Ernest and Doris. It's the sweetest picture, and Louis' heart clenches tightly. He deflates, unable to pretend anymore. "Yeah. Yeah, it does." He takes a deep breath. "I guess I… I just had an impulse."

He feels Liam lay a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. "Well…" Liam continues cautiously, concernedly, "he's leaving soon, right? You gotta be ready for that."

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get his breathing back to normal. "I know… I know. I'm ready." He opens his eyes, and seeing their faces he _knows_ that they know he's lying to himself. Louis feels so tired all of a sudden, and desperate to get away from all the pitying looks. He despises it, seeing everyone look at him with their downturned mouths and worried eyes. He excuses himself abruptly from the table, mumbling about wanting to be alone, and then heads out onto the terrace, reaching for a cigarette.

The smoke mixes with his breath from the cold as he exhales slowly, looking up at the stars. The ache in his chest is ever-present at the thought of Harry leaving again, and so soon. It's a clear sky tonight, but the stars suddenly become blurry as tears spring to Louis' eyes.

He sniffles, hurriedly wiping away his tears. _Accept it, Louis. Whatever there was between the both of you, it's gone now._ He places both hands on the balustrade and takes a shaky breath, turning his head up to the sky. Cold air fills his lungs, and a chill breeze sweeps over his face. It helps to relax him, to ground him, to make him believe this will all be okay.

"It _will_ all be okay, right, mum?" he says, keeping his eyes closed, imagining his mum's face smiling down at him. "You always told me it would be okay."

He opens his eyes and finds the stars staring back at him, blinking ever so slightly, comforting him, as if they were twinkling just so Louis could imagine it's his mum responding to him.

"Is that you, mum? Send me a sign that you hear me." The stars are quiet, ever-twinkling, and the ache in Louis' chest grows tenfold. If she were here, everything would have been so much easier. For the thousandth time in his life, he wishes it was he who God had taken instead. "Mum, I miss you."

The stars blink back, and he smiles, despite the heavy weight on his chest, his eyes on the verge of fresh tears.

"Hey, Lou."

Louis turns around and finds Harry walking towards him, looking lovely standing against the light from the ballroom. Louis smiles at him softly, hoping his eyes don't give him away. "Hey, H."

"Still want that dance?" Harry asks, and Louis raises his eyebrows casually, though his heart starts to pound in his chest. He wants to say yes, feels the _need_ to, but Liam's voice enters his mind. _Doesn't this just make it harder for you?_

Louis shakes his head, turning away. "Nah, I'm all danced out tonight," he says, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Well, let me keep you company, then," Harry says slowly, taking his place by Louis' side, tall and warm.

They stand in each others' silence for a while, Louis killing his cigarette atop the fancy bin at one point. They're standing close to each other, their arms barely brushing together, and Louis tries to tell himself that it's just because of the cold. Louis sneaks a glance at Harry, and sees Harry's eyes are turned up to the sky, staring at the wide expanse of the bright stars with a slight, peaceful smile on his full lips. Louis' breath catches in his throat at the sight.

“Lou, remember how I used to talk about constellations all the time?” Harry suddenly asks, and though his voice is quiet Louis is startled out of his thoughts, and his staring. He quickly looks away, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

“How could I forget? You wouldn’t shut up about them."

A beat of silence. And then-

“So that’s the Big Dipper, and there’s Andromeda, and of course, there’s Sextans, I used to talk about _that_ one all the time-”

Bewildered at Harry's sudden and utter goofiness, Louis giggles at that and hits Harry playfully on the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, you child.”

They share a laugh. The air is chilly, winter is about to arrive, and it's wonderful. Already Louis feels a bit warmer, a bit safer, standing beside Harry under the stars just like they used to all the time. He finds himself leaning closer almost against his will, and he must imagine how Harry scooches towards him ever so slightly so that their forearms touch more solidly. Louis sighs softly at the contact.

After another stretch of silence, Harry says, almost cautiously, “You… you used to tell me I was brighter than all of them. Remember?”

Louis looks at him then, and is caught in the _soft soft soft_ smile on Harry’s face. In that moment, Louis realizes it, and is able to think it into existence with the full force of a typhoon - he still loves Harry, is _overwhelmed_ with it, full to the brim and overflowing with those three words dancing at the tip of his tongue. It's always been Harry; the Harry that made him pancakes in the morning, and the one who knew exactly how to make his tea. It's even the Harry that drove him absolutely mad with anger and disbelief, the Harry that brought all these wild emotions to the surface. It was his Harry, from all those years ago, and the Harry that stands before him now, all soft tousled curls and gentle green eyes.

But Louis has made peace that he will never be with Harry, his Harry from before or the Harry he sees now, because he'll will be married to someone else soon. _He is happy with someone else._ Louis' emotions hit him like a freight train, and he feels as if a part of him has died inside, never to return.

But then he looks into Harry's eyes, at the quiet happiness in them, and already he feels able to be reborn into someone that doesn't _need_ Harry here. It is at this moment that Louis realizes he’s ready, _finally_ ready, to give Harry up. He thinks about the wedding ring sitting in his closet, and the ache in his chest grows and grows as he realizes he is going to part with it soon.

“You still are, love. You still are.”

The smile that Harry shines at Louis puts all the stars and suns in the galaxy to absolute shame as they do their best friend signal. If that night Louis allows himself to cry to sleep at the ache in his heart, no one has to know. This is the last time he’ll ever cry for Harry Styles.

¤

Harry trudges towards Louis' front door in the middle of the cold afternoon. He still feels a bit groggy from the night before, with the ghost of a headache making him feel a little sluggish. He must have drank a lot more than he realized at the party last night; he woke up at one in the afternoon today, bone-tired and spread-eagled on his bed still in his suit. He had _way_ too much champagne.

That must explain all the emotions from last night, he reasons to himself as he rings Louis' doorbell. That whole party was just a whirlwind of his heart and mind racing whenever he so much as _looked_ at Louis. He recalls with a slight wince the moment they shared on the terrace, the moment he himself prompted with the question that slipped from his lips, when Louis looked at him with the stars shining in his eyes. _You still are,_ he had said.

Harry squeezes his fists as he stands in front of Louis' door, the engraved birds matching the one on his chest perfectly. _Yep, definitely the alcohol._

Harry had been cooking himself breakfast for lunch when Louis dialled the house phone and asked him if Harry could stop by his place today. He seemed a little closed off on the phone call, a little quiet, and Harry tries not to read into it too much as he waits for Louis to open the door.

After a minute, the door swings open, and a perfectly chipper, just-showered Louis is standing in the doorway, looking too well-rested for someone who came home at one in the morning from a party.

"Looks like someone had a little too much to drink last night," Louis says in greeting, teasing.

Louis' hair looks perfectly fluffy, and the scent of his shampoo is so tantalizingly sweet that Harry feels overwhelmed for a second. Louis just laughs when Harry doesn't say anything, and beckons him inside. "Sorry, come in, it's cold out."

Harry enters and notices Ernest and Doris playing with some toys in the living room. They pay him no mind, engrossed in their Legos. Again, Harry squints at Louis as the other man closes the door. "How are you so… okay?"

"Well, I didn't drink the equivalent of the Dead Sea," Louis quips as he heads to the kitchen, and Harry chuckles softly at the joke, following him. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks," Harry says, sighing as he takes a seat at the kitchen table.

Louis wrinkles his nose as he reaches up at the cupboard, and Harry zeroes in on the small strip of skin when Louis' shirt rides up. _God,_ Harry _, keep it together._

"Since when did you prefer coffee over tea? Your British card is just about to get revoked," Louis says. "I only have instant, is that okay?"

"Yeah, thank you. And I don't, I just prefer it when I need an energy boost. And no one can revoke my British card," Harry says all in one breath, snapping his eyes back to Louis' face. Louis is heating up some water in the kettle, and pouring some of the instant coffee into a mug - the same mug Harry used when he stayed here weeks ago. Unbidden, Harry feels a warmth curl in his gut, at the bizarre thought that it's now _his_ mug, that he now has a place in Louis' kitchen forever.

"Are you hungry? Have you eaten?" Louis asks, handing Harry his coffee. "Oh, wait, let me get a teaspoon," Louis realizes, then flutters about the kitchen to fetch one. Only now does Harry realize that Louis has got a bit of nervous energy around him, a little jumpy on his heels and his eyes darting about, not quite meeting Harry's own.

"I've eaten, thanks. You okay, mate?" Harry says as he accepts the teaspoon from Louis. The other man looks down, still not meeting Harry's eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Louis mumbles, then continues, "Sorry, I need to get something upstairs, do you mind watching the twins for a moment?"

"Oh, not at all, go ahead," Harry says, a little confused by Louis' strange behavior. God, he must have been weirded out by Harry last night. That's it, isn't it? Harry's stomach clenches as he takes a sip of the now-mixed, kind of shitty coffee, watching Louis dart off and up the staircase. 

While waiting, Harry pulls his phone out and sets to replying to messages he's been ignoring the past couple of days - a handful from Matt, some from Zayn, and a few others from people he probably never would reply to. His friends get it, even Matt gets it; he isn't the type to text a lot.

He opens Zayn's texts, and sees five he hasn't read from over a week ago to just this morning.

_i hope you're doing some songwriting over there, once u start with j-grace it's all very quick !! they've tons of clients_

_just checking up on ya, h. how ya doin buddie_

_are u ever going to reply to me? jeez it's like i'm not even ur best friend_

_H A R R Y R E P L Y_

_fucks sake at least text once. if u don't reply within the hour u don't get to be the godfather to my unborn child_

Harry smiles fondly at Zayn's texts, sending back a quick text, saying he's great and he knows he'll be the godfather regardless. After he hits send, he pauses, wondering if he should talk to Zayn about his… emotions from last night. Is it a good idea? Harry remembers that he had just wanted to lean into Louis' body at the terrace, and his heart clenches. Harry doesn't even know where to begin; attempting to explain everything to Zayn would take a lifetime and more.

He starts typing, _I need to talk to you about something, too, need some BFF help. I'll call you soon,_ and is about to send it when his peripheral vision catches Louis walking over to him. Without sending the message, Harry shuts his phone and looks at Louis, then sees he's holding a raggedy black shoebox in his hands.

Harry quirks a questioning eyebrow, but Louis doesn't say anything, taking a seat beside Harry and setting the box down on the table. Louis stares at it for a moment, fidgeting with the box in his hands, and Harry is growing impatient.

"Is this a magic trick?" Harry jokes, wondering what the hell this is about.

Louis cracks a rueful smile, all jittery energy gone, replaced by something more subdued. "Well, I guess… if you're looking for a miracle," he says, then grasps the lid and opens the box. Harry leans forward a little to peek at the contents, ready to joke about how he's disappointed nothing jumped out, but then-

The _ring_. His grandmother's ring.

Instantly, Harry feels a lump in his throat at the sight of the dazzling ruby sat atop the white gold band. He stares at it in wonder, his stomach doing somersaults, an incredible feeling of happiness and relief at the sight of the beautiful ring he's missed terribly.

Then he sees the simpler, yellow gold one sitting beside it, and his heart immediately clenches. He can't believe Louis has kept it all these years - the memory of seeing it for the first time five years ago comes rushing back to him in painful waves; the giddiness, the exhilaration, the _love._ He remembers one day, Louis hadn't been in the house, and Harry couldn't help but slip the ring on his own finger in secret, giggling to himself as he stretched his hand out in front of him, ring on full display.

"Lou," Harry chokes out, feeling incredibly overwhelmed.

"You can have it back," Louis says, and their eyes finally meet, but after a moment of confusion Harry realizes he can't tell what Louis is feeling. He's shuttered off again, his face level and impenetrable, and it curls at something unpleasant in Harry's gut.

Then Louis smiles, a soft smile, and yet it still tugs at Harry's chest. "Well, go on, Haz, you can get your grandmother's ring back. I'm sorry it took so long for me to do this," Louis says with a rueful chuckle.

Still unable to speak, Harry feels like the whole world is in slow motion as he reaches into the shoebox, opens the glass case of the jewelry box and picks up the ruby ring. The lid closes with a small snick as he holds the barely-there weight of it in his palm. _I have the ring. I finally have the ring._

"Don't worry, I didn't scratch it or anything," Louis jokes, and Harry realizes he must have been staring at the ring for a tad too long. He looks back up at Louis, and the emotions rolling in his stomach are too much to sift through and make sense of at this moment, so all he says is, "Thank you."

Then Louis reaches out his hand from across the table to grip Harry's fingers, and he says, "Of course. I hope you and Matt have a lifetime of happiness." He's smiling at Harry, and there is no trace of sadness, or regret, or anger. Louis means it. He really means it.

As if he's lost complete control over his body, Harry feels himself surge forward to embrace Louis. His heart is pounding in his chest as he holds Louis close, tight, his eyes squeezing shut. The lump at his throat grows bigger, and he doesn't trust that his voice won't give it away if he tries to speak; so he doesn't, opting instead to just hug Louis and bury his face in his shoulder.

He hears Louis let out a small sigh, and then he feels Louis' arms come up to hug him equally as tight, his hands bunching up Harry's jumper on his back. Harry can now smell the sweet smell of Louis' shampoo mixed with the slight _Louis_ smell, and for some reason Harry feels his heart clenching without end, as if it were breaking.

Then Louis moves to pull away, and all Harry can think is, _No, don't let go, please don't let me go-_

But of course, they pull apart, and Harry lets Louis go. Louis has a smile on his face, his eyes watery, and Harry forces himself to return the smile.

"I should-" Harry clears his throat, as it seems a lump has formed in it. "I should probably go, then. Back to L.A. Could catch a flight tomorrow."

Louis nods quietly, and Harry feels the strange ache in his chest expand even further as he searches Louis' eyes for… something. _Anything._

Minutes later, Harry finds himself trudging back home, his mind impossibly jumbled up. He reaches for his phone, hoping it would distract him from the ache, when he sees his unsent text to Zayn. _Will I still tell him about last night?_

He thinks back to the party, to Louis' ocean eyes, to the way they danced like no one else was around. He thinks about the days before that, hanging out in Harry's place, rehashing funny anecdotes from high school, laughing in the car on the way to the ballroom, watching shitty Netflix movies on Louis' couch, exchanging sleepy good morning's at the break of dawn. Hearing Louis sing again.

Then he remembers the ruby ring in his pocket, and Louis' words from awhile ago. _I hope you and Matt have a lifetime of happiness._

Harry clenches his jaw and deletes his text draft, typing instead to Zayn that he's going to need to book a flight back to L.A. for tomorrow and that he wants to surprise Matt.

Matt, perfectly good and sweet, waiting for Harry to come back.

He's got everything he came for - the ring in his pocket and the chance to finally tell Matt everything. And yet…

He looks over his shoulder at Louis' home, steadily moving further and further away. Harry turns away, and tries to push the awful ache in his heart out for good.

¤

The pain is immense, and Louis can feel himself drowning again.

It's as if God were playing a cruel joke on him and decided to bring him back to five years ago, to the night Harry had first left Louis, when the whole world had gone to hell and Louis was broken at how easily Harry just up and left.

Except now, Louis has decided to let Harry go, and there's nothing he can do about it. Louis let Harry go. That’s all there was to it, and Louis knew it was coming, it _had_ to be done - but it has left a gaping hole in Louis’ chest nonetheless.

It's midday, and it's a slow hour in the Twisty Pig, but none of the bartenders know Louis and in this case, it's perfect. There's no one here to force him to stop when he's downing five, six, seven beers like it's grape juice.

He can feel himself drowning again as he thinks back to the day before, to the moment Harry had stood up after their heartbreaking hug. Harry had smiled at him then, a beautiful smile that shattered Louis' heart to pieces.

And then Harry had turned away and walked out the door, an image so painfully familiar it was as if Harry had walked all over the broken remnants in Louis' chest. Louis is drowning, he's sure of it; he lets out a choked sob, burying his head in his hands, missing the way the bartender gives him a worried look.

This is happening all over again, and Louis can't possibly feel more pathetic. He can't believe he let himself fall in love with Harry all over again, fall so hard and so fast it was as if the feelings never left. _Maybe they never did, you just denied it to yourself this whole time._

His ninth beer causes a sick feeling to start roiling up in his stomach, and he jerkily slips off his chair, almost crashing to the ground, but he catches himself on the bartop. He stumbles to the loo, his mind spinning and his stomach churning, and he just manages to push the door open when he crashes to the tiled floor, hitting his head and then-

Louis blearily opens his eyes. The action feels especially difficult; his body feels so, so heavy. He blinks slowly multiple times, trying to get used to the bright light above him, when he begins to hear the whirring and clicking of machines around him. Voices around him start up - "He's awake! Get the nurse!" - and blurry shapes of people begin to crowd around him.

"Fuck," Louis breathes out when he realizes where he is, and his voice is hoarse and ugly. "Fuck, not this again."

"What were you thinking, Lou?" Liam says angrily above him to the right side of his hospital bed, and Louis catches Niall from his left shoot Liam a worried look. "Hey, Liam, don't start-"

"Damn it, Louis, you had us fucking worried sick," Liam says frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. Louis looks away, down at his feet covered by the hospital blanket, and can't bring himself to feel anything. He feels numb, and the only thing he can really register is the incessant pounding in his skull. He brings his hand up to his forehead and feels gauze wrapped around his head, and only notices his arm is hooked up to an IV.

"What… what happened?" Louis asks, still unable to meet anyone's eyes, when two people suddenly burst in his hospital room.

The first one Louis sees is a nurse holding a clipboard, walking towards him, and that isn't anything out of the ordinary, but his breath hitches when he sees Harry walking behind him. Their eyes meet, and Harry looks frazzled, worried, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows furrowed. Louis barely notices when the nurse starts to talk.

"Hi, Louis," the nurse says kindly, taking Liam's place beside Louis' bed. Louis watches Liam walk over to Harry and start whispering in his ear, looking frustrated. Harry leans in and whispers something back, but still looks straight at Louis with those worried green eyes.

_What is he doing here?_

"How are you feeling, Louis?" the nurse says behind him, and Louis tears his eyes away from Harry's gaze to look at the nurse. _He isn't supposed to be here anymore._

"I - I just feel a little fuzzy, and my head is pounding, but I feel okay otherwise," Louis mumbles, fidgeting under the blanket. His head is splitting open thinking of Harry being here, seeing him like this, looking at him with so much concern it's making Louis feel even sicker. His lungs feel like they could give out. "It's also a bit hard to breathe."

"That's understandable. You've had a concussion, and a tad too much alcohol to drink," the nurse explains. "We have pumped your stomach and checked for the severity of the head injury, but nothing looks serious. Do you need help breathing?"

"No, no, it's not that bad," Louis says, and takes a peek at Harry standing at the foot of his bed beside Liam. He and Liam are speaking in hushed, frustrated tones - but while Liam looks a little angry, Harry just looks tense, his arms crossed, body rigid as a pole. Harry then catches Louis' stare, and holds it there, and maybe Louis _does_ need that oxygen machine. The worry is evident in Harry's deep green eyes, and his fingers keep flexing where they're resting on his biceps.

The nurse continues, letting Louis know that he just needs to rest for a few hours here in the hospital before they can release him. Louis mumbles his thanks, and the nurse offers him an encouraging smile before he leaves. He asks Liam to come outside with him, presumably to talk about Louis' condition.

"How ya feeling, Lou?" Niall says worriedly from the foot of the bed.

"What happened? How'd I get here?" Louis asks, not answering Niall's question, unable to bear the pitying looks he and Harry are directing at him. _It's happening all over again. And Harry's here to see all of it._

"I brought you here, actually," Harry says, and Louis looks at him then, alarmed. "I was calling you to say goodbye because I was about to leave for the airport, but you weren't picking up. So I checked your house, and you weren't there, but…" He pauses, biting his lip. "Through your window I saw beer bottles lying around your living room."

"Then he called me, all panicky and voice high-pitched," Niall jumps in, then his voice goes higher as he mimics Harry. "'Niall, where's Louis? He's got alcohol at home, something bad has happened, he won't pick up my calls!'" Niall snorts goodnaturedly, patting Harry on the back, and Louis knows he's just trying to lighten the mood but Louis just feels sicker and sicker in the stomach.

_Shame._

Harry can't bring himself to crack a smile either, his face grim. "So I rushed instantly to the Twisty Pig," Harry continues, face earnest and so concerned it makes Louis feel so small. _He is seeing me like this. How can he be seeing me like this?_ "I saw you heading for the bathroom, then I tried to call out your name but then you fell and I heard this… this _crack_ and-" 

"Why the hell are you here?"

Harry looks taken aback at Louis' angry voice, and a part of Louis' brain wants to take it back, but the angrier, frustrated part of him takes control. "Wha - I brought you here, around three hours ago-"

"So you missed your flight?" Louis grips the sheets, and he can't bear this, can't bear to look at the concern in Harry's eyes because he doesn't want to mistake it for love. He can't do it, not today, not ever.

"It's-" Harry glances at Niall, looking a little hurt, and Louis feels his chest fall, and an ache spread through him like fire. "It's _fine_ , Lou, I can book another flight."

"No!" Louis shouts, gripping the bedsheets, and Harry flinches, a flash of hurt in his eyes. Louis can't bear to look at him right now, can't bear to see him standing there knowing how worried he is, because he can't _deal_ with this right now, not when he knows Harry's leaving anyway, not when a huge part of Louis still wishes he would stay. "No, Harry, don't - you can't just do shit like this and have me running around in circles!"

"Louis," Harry's voice is desperate, and he looks utterly pained and confused that Louis feels the sharp pang of guilt in his chest. _Look at you pushing him away again._ "Lou, you were - you were _bleeding_ , I just wanted to-"

"You wanted _nothing,_ " Louis says in a vicious tone, feeling tears begin to spring in his eyes. He looks down at his lap, gritting his teeth. "Just - go back to L.A. already, you got your ring back. There's no other reason for you to be here."

The stretch of silence that follows feels like an eternity, with Louis' gaze resolutely trained on the white blanket on his lap, refusing to look at Harry. Then finally, he hears Harry breathe out a deflated sigh, and a twinge of pain blooms in Louis' heart because he can picture the exact face Harry is making. He hears Harry's footsteps make its way to the door, and just as Louis hears the door swing open, Harry says, "I care about you, Lou. I thought we were friends."

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, unable to watch Harry leave yet again, but as the door swings shut Louis can see it in his mind anyway - the back of Harry's damned curly head, his shoulders, his back, legs carrying him to move further and further away from Louis.

Who was he kidding? He wasn't ready to have Harry leave again. Who knows if he ever will? Louis looks up, and Niall is just staring at him with wide concerned eyes.

"Wh - mate," Niall starts, and Louis braces for the question, unable to talk about any of the things running through his brain right now. "What…" Then Niall lets out a heavy sigh, and then rests a gentle hand softly on Louis' arm. "Do you need anything?"

Then Louis' eyes fill with tears as he stares at Niall's open, earnest face. "Just… just a hug," Louis chokes out, and Niall rushes to his side and envelops him in a huge hug as sobs rack through Louis' body for what feels like forever.

An hour later, Anne and Robin arrive, looking frazzled as hell. They both crowd around Louis, asking how he is, checking if he's okay, thankfully not asking how he ended up like this or mentioning Harry at all. Louis is grateful for it, for Anne's warm forehead kisses and Robin's sympathetic eyes. It's all he can handle right now.

Soon, it's only he and Liam left in the room. Louis stares at his blanket, picking at the hem, unsure if he needs to say anything. Honestly, he doesn't think he wants to; exhaustion is weighing down on his bones, and the ache in his chest keeps spreading, threatening to take over and make him cry again. Louis honestly just feels like wallowing in self-pity at this point.

But Liam is also just sitting in the corner of the room quietly, resolutely avoiding Louis' gaze, not angry anymore - but Louis can see the frustration in his eyes, his shoulders, and he feels he owes Liam an explanation.

"Li," Louis starts, and Liam grunts, still refusing to look at him. Louis sighs; they can both be really stubborn. In so many ways they shouldn't gel together as well as they do, but they _do_ , and Louis knows full well that he's lucky to have Liam. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for worrying you like this again."

Liam closes his eyes, then lets out a deep breath before getting up and sitting at the edge of Louis' bed. "Of course, Lou," Liam says softly, a little tension released from his shoulders. "You don't have to be sorry, okay? _I'm_ sorry, I shouldn't have reacted like that."

Louis stays silent at that, merely nodding. Then Liam reaches over and places a hand on top of his. "Can we talk about this, though? Please? I need to know you'll be okay again."

His eyes are so worried, and Louis feels the ache spread even more. Louis draws in a shaky breath, and he can't even bring himself to come up with an excuse, not when Liam's looking at him like that. "It's Harry," Louis whispers, and he clenches at his bedsheets. "I gave him his ring back yesterday and-" Louis chokes, feeling a lump rise in his throat again. "And I just couldn't take it."

"Couldn't take what?" Liam asks gently.

Louis feels tears sting at his eyes again. "Him leaving again," Louis lets out in a rush, and a brief moment of relief settles in his heart at the admission before an all-new pain grips him. "I really wasn't ready to watch him leave again, Li, you were right. I don't even _want_ to be with him anymore-" _That's a lie-_ "I could be his friend, or whatever, I just hate to see him go. I hate that I _had_ to let him go. And now - now that he's seen me like this…" Tears begin to flow, and he clenches his jaw, looking away from Liam. "I feel so, _so_ ashamed. I hate that he saw me like this. I hate that this is how we said goodbye."

"But it doesn't have to be like this," Liam protests, and Louis chuckles weakly, sarcastically, through his tears. "No, c'mon, Lou, Harry loves you, alright? Maybe not in the way you'd want him to," Liam adds hastily when Louis scoffs, "but he does care for you. We all know it. _You_ know it." Liam pauses, then continues in a softer voice, as if he were unsure of whether to speak or not. "You just have to accept this is the love you're gonna get from him."

Louis sobs, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. Liam's right, painfully right - Harry will now always be at a distance, at just the right amount, there for Louis when Louis needs him but never always there. Never in the way Louis wants him to be.

But that's okay, right? It has to be. Louis can't be stuck in this limbo forever while Harry goes off to marry Matt.

"Hey, you owe it to yourself to be happy, alright?" Liam says, gripping Louis' fingers in his hand. At that, Louis looks up at him, and Liam continues, "You owe it to yourself to get out of this misery."

Louis stays silent for a moment, then nods. "You're right. You're absolutely right," Louis says, chuckling wetly as he wipes at his eyes. "Can't stay like this forever, can I?"

Liam shakes his head with a sympathetic smile. "I'd hate to see you like this again."

They share another hug, a long, comforting one that loosens Louis' chest a fraction.

"Just don't leave it like this, okay?" Liam says as they pull away. "Talk to him again, about everything if you want, before he leaves tomorrow."

Louis sighs, closing his eyes and clenching his bedsheets. Yes, he'll fix this. This cannot be their last goodbye.

¤

The next day, Harry stares at himself in his childhood bathroom mirror, and he looks as sullen as he feels. There are dark bags under his eyes, thanks to the dreadful lack of sleep he got last night. He had stayed up late tossing and turning in his bed, unable to stop thinking about how things were left between him and Louis.

He's finally looking forward to leaving, to seeing Matt again, to getting back to his normal life as a star musician, but this isn't how he imagined his departure. He wanted to hug Louis once more, wave him goodbye, maybe even force Louis to drive with him to the airport to send him off. That isn't going to happen.

Why did Louis even go on another alcohol binge again, anyway? Harry closes his eyes and clenches his fist on the edge of his sink, as images of Louis' pale face marred by blood barrage his mind. _Didn't we already fix things? Is there something else I need to know?_ Louis' voice from yesterday echoes in his mind: _You got your ring back. There's no other reason for you to be here._

He shakes his head, splashing cold water on his face before he exits the bathroom and double checks all his things. He's going to leave anyway. No point in moping about things he can't fix anymore.

And yet… Harry looks up and stares out his bedroom window, the one Louis had loved to perch on - well, until he had fallen out of it. Harry smiles ruefully as he remembers Louis calling it "the window to hell" a week after that freak accident when he was still recovering from the fall. Harry can almost see him, the ghost of teenage Louis' outline, leaning against the windowpane and tapping his knuckles on the glass with his eyes squinted suspiciously.

Maybe it _is_ good he's finally leaving, Harry thinks to himself as he wrenches his eyes away from the window and starts bringing his things downstairs. This house, this town holds so many memories, so much of _them_ , that Harry believes a good amount of distance will quench the strange burning in his heart at the thought of Louis.

He sets his luggage down at the bottom of the staircase, and is about to call for his mum cleaning out back when the doorbell rings. He huffs, immediately pulling the front door open, and then he sees Louis standing outside, hands in his pockets, looking a little disheveled.

Immediately, Harry's heartbeat begins to pick up, and his stomach rolls with all different kinds of emotions at the sight of Louis - his golden skin, his windswept hair, the bandage around his head, his blue eyes. Harry immediately tenses up, and his grip on the doorknob tightens.

"Louis," he breathes out, unsure of what to say. "What are you-"

Louis cuts him off. "Harry, just let me say something, alright?"

"O-okay," Harry says, unsure of what to do. "Do you want to come in-"

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Louis says, and Harry sighs, though a smile graces his lips. “I was - I was just in the most terrible mood, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry’s chest expands with a light feeling, and he waves his hand like it was nothing, as if his heart didn’t feel a million times lighter. “It’s nothing, don’t worry, I understand.” Then he gives Louis a cheeky smile, and says, “We’ve had _so_ many fights in the past that I know you never really mean it.”

Louis doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile at Harry’s joke, and Harry’s smile falters a little bit. “Lou, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

"I love you," Louis cuts in, and suddenly Harry feels like he can't breathe. Blood rushes in his ears as he stares at the man before him. The world stops in its tracks and it's as if everything has gone silent, and the only thing Harry can hear is Louis continuing to speak. "I think - I think I always have, I don't know if I ever stopped."

Harry feels frozen at the spot, and his brain is trying to catch up with the words that have just spilled out of Louis' mouth. He must look like he’s seen a ghost. "Louis, I - I don't-"

" _Please_ , Harry, you don't have to say anything. Please don't feel like you need to," Louis rushes out, and Harry is caught terribly off guard by the utter vulnerability in Louis' eyes. It's the most open he's seen him, the most earnest, and Harry feels the ache spread from his chest to his stomach all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes as his brain finally catches up to the magnitude of Louis’ confession. _He loves me._ "Just - _I_ need to say this. I needed to get all of this out of my chest because I-" Louis' voice cracks, and Harry's heart clenches as he sees Louis' eyes fill with tears. "I hate to see you leave again. I didn't know if I could take it.

"But then Liam told me something yesterday that I felt was so important, not just for me but for the both of us." Louis takes a deep breath, and Harry can feel every inch of him waiting, hanging on to every word passing from Louis’ lips. "I owe it to myself to be happy. And you owe it to yourself to be happy, too. And with everything going on in this stupid heart, all I know is that as long as we are both happy, I can move on. I can live with that."

Louis then grabs at Harry's shoulders, and Harry lets out a little gasp at the sudden touch, at the sudden proximity of their faces. "So you go and be happy with Matt, alright? I'll find a way to be happy, too." Louis' eyes are wide, earnest, and Harry feels like he's drowning. "That's how it should be."

Harry feels like his throat is all dried up as he stares at Louis, catching the way his lips tremble ever so slightly. There's too much information to deal with, and it's making his head spin. He has absolutely no words to say, no words to explain the awful ache in his chest.

Then it's as if Louis snaps out of whatever trance he is in, because he jerks his hands away from Harry's shoulders and takes a step back. "So, yeah, that's... all I needed to say. Sorry about that." His gaze drops to the ground, and he so visibly curls up into himself it makes Harry want to pull him into his arms.

And so Harry does, stepping forward and pulling Louis into the tightest embrace. Harry buries his face into Louis' shoulder and tries to ignore the clench of his stomach when Louis' arms immediately wrap around his torso to hug him back with the same fervor. Harry can feel Louis trembling a little in his arms and hugs him even closer to his chest, hoping Louis can feel as much relief as he feels when they are locked in an embrace.

When Louis stops shaking, they pull away from each other, though Harry refuses to let go of Louis’ forearms just yet. Louis takes a second to stare at Harry’s hands by his elbows, and then looks up at him with a small, hesitant smile. "Can we still be friends?"

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, but the ache in his heart doesn't leave; instead, it keeps gnawing at his chest, clutching at his windpipe. "Of course, Lou. Always." He manages to smile down at Louis as he lifts a thumb up, and Louis happily mirrors his movement before they crook their thumbs together.

"For what it's worth," Harry says, after they pull away, after Harry thinks his hands may have lingered much too long on Louis' forearms, "I'm sorry."

Louis cocks his head, looking a bit confused. "For what?"

_For leaving you that first time. For causing you so much pain. For being too late for you this time._

_For leaving again anyway._

Harry shrugs, feeling his face heat up as he lowers his gaze to his shoes. "For… for all this shit. I-" Harry clears his throat. "I do care for you, Lou." That's the closest he can get to voicing out loud the jumble of thoughts in his brain without completely imploding upon himself.

The soft smile Louis sends his way is seared into Harry’s brain as they share another hug, and Harry allows himself another moment of weakness as he buries his nose into Louis’ neck. He breathes him in, holds him in his arms, and already regrets the emptiness in the space between as they pull away.

One car ride later, Harry walks through the Manchester Airport doors. He turns back and gives a small salute to his parents waving him goodbye from the car. _I’ll be back sooner than you think,_ Harry promised his mum as they hugged a few moments ago. _As you should,_ she said jokingly, motioning for him to bend down so she can press a kiss to his forehead.

As Harry boards the plane, his phone lights up with a text message from Louis. They had exchanged phone numbers just before Harry had left for the airport.

 _Have a safe flight, Hazza!,_ the message reads, accompanied by a thumbs up emoji. Harry smiles to himself as he settles in his seat, a warmth flurrying in his stomach as he sends a thumbs up emoji back.

He sets his phone on airplane mode and stuffs it in his pocket. Leaning back against his seat, he stares out the window to his left. An ache grips his heart yet again at the reality of leaving this place, his family, and Louis once more - but it’s a different ache from the one he felt five years ago. Then, it was the ache following a painful farewell but coupled with hope blooming in his chest at the possibility of more. Now, it’s an ache from the reality that he may be going back to a life of less.

Harry frowns to himself at that thought, immediately banishing it into the darkest recesses of his mind. _That’s unfair to think. To Zayn, to Matt. Even to Louis._ Louis was right; they do deserve to make themselves happy, even if it’s from half a world away.

But... _I love you_ , Louis had said. Harry sighs and closes his eyes as the plane speeds up for takeoff, and Louis’ wide earnest eyes are seared into the back of his brain. He ends up falling asleep the whole flight home, tired from the night before, dreaming about an obnoxious laugh and a jacket that smelled like tea and cigarettes.

It’s the next day when Harry arrives at LAX, and he is immediately escorted to a team of bodyguards stationed at the gate to greet him. He keeps his head down low, yawning into his hand. Despite the emotional roller coaster he felt before the flight, he feels his head getting clearer and clearer, and excitement blooms in his chest at the thought of seeing Matt’s surprised face when he first sees Harry back.

In the car ride home, Harry switches his phone back off airplane mode, and a video message from his mum comes in. He opens it, and immediately his chest constricts just at the thumbnail. He presses play, and suddenly the twins’ giggles fill his car, loud and delightful. They’re sat at the carpeted living room floor of his childhood home, playing with Gemma. Pete is sat at the couch, holding a sleeping little Eric in his arms.

Then Louis’ voice comes on, and with a start Harry realizes it's Louis filming the video. “Say hi to Harry!”

“Hi, Harry!” the twins chorus, waving at the camera.

“Harry, I can’t believe I missed you by a day! You better come back soon, alright,” Gemma says into the camera. “Everyone misses you, you shit.”

“You shit,” Doris says slowly, with all the innocence of a child, and the adults in the room erupt into laughter, the loudest one being Louis’. This causes Eric to wake up, wailing as woken-up babies do, and Gemma gets cut off saying, “Oh, baby, Eric, we’re sorry-”. 

The sight of the happy twins, his sister, and the echo of Louis’ loud laughter wedges in Harry’s chest. Harry tries to school his expression into a normal close-lipped smile as he takes a selfie, holding up a peace sign. _Just arrived in LA and I’m otw home. Miss you all x_ , he types out before sending the message.

When the car rolls to a stop in the driveway, Harry hurriedly steps out, leaving his luggage in the car first. He needs to see Matt right now, to feel him in his arms again, to anchor him back into this life.

He enters the front door, and is met with a completely silent house. _Is Matt not home? His motorcycle was outside, though._ Harry peeks into the bright kitchen and dining room with the open floor plan, and sees two used bowls on the table with a platter of unfinished pasta in the center. _Oh, probably one of his bandmates came over today._ Before heading up, Harry decides to wash the bowls in the sink, a sudden strange nervousness gripping him at the thought of seeing Matt again after what feels like a lifetime. They’ll be the same again, won’t they? Even if Harry tells Matt all about Louis and the ring? Then they’ll get married, and it’ll be a happy ending for everyone.

 _Yes,_ Harry thinks firmly as he sets the plates in the rack to dry, Louis’ voice echoing in his mind, _it_ will _be a happy ending for everyone._ He pats his jacket pocket to make sure the ring is still right there.

He transfers the leftover pasta into a container and stores it in their fridge before heading up the stairs, tiptoeing excitedly to avoid making any unnecessary noise. He stops in his tracks when he sees a lump of _something_ at the top of his staircase. Frowning, he comes closer and picks it up. A white polo? Confused, Harry looks to his right where the hallway leads to their bedroom, and immediately a cold feeling inches its way up his back when he sees more articles of clothing strewn haphazardly across the wooden floor - a black jacket, two pairs of shoes, a grey tank top, a belt.

Harry stops cold in front of their bedroom door cracked open a bit, but refuses to look inside just yet. His heart is hammering in his ears as he stares at the pair of jeans crumpled on the floor in front of him, and other than the blood rushing in his ears, he suddenly picks up the sound of sheets rustling, a giggle, followed by excessively loud moaning.

 _No, no, this can’t be happening, there must be an explanation for this. It can’t be Matt in there._ His hands tremble as he reaches for the doorknob, and he grips it in his hand silently, unable to swing the door open, just as he hears a man from inside moan, “Fuck, yeah, just like that, Matt.”

Harry’s instincts kick in and he swings the door open, causing it to bang loudly against the wall. Matt and one of his bandmates - Gerry - jump up from the bed - _their_ bed - in shock. Harry feels his body go all numb as he watches Gerry scramble to cover his naked body with a blanket, while Matt stands there staring at Harry unashamedly, one knee still resting casually on the bed.

“You said he won’t be coming home any time soon,” Gerry hisses, and Harry snaps.

“Well, _pardon_ the fucking intrusion, I didn’t know I couldn’t be home early to surprise my bloody fiancé,” Harry grits out, clenching his fists. He suddenly realizes he’s close to tears, and he tries to fight it off, but his throat is impossibly tight and he can already feel his eyes water.

“You didn’t tell me you’re coming home today,” Matt says, calmly, _too_ calmly, and it sends a flash of anger through Harry’s body.

“Well, fuck, I’m _sorry_ , please, _continue_!” Harry shouts, gesturing wildly towards them, and Matt doesn’t even so much as flinch.

“Harry, Harry, listen to me,” Matt says, walking slowly towards Harry, and Harry takes a step back, wanting to be away from Matt as far as possible. “Why are you angry?”

Then Harry lets out a loud laugh in disbelief. “How _dare_ you ask that? Are you dumb? I just caught you cheating! Why the hell do you think I’m angry?”

“Well, Harry, you didn’t leave me much choice!” Matt says, his calm demeanor finally cracking a little. “I haven’t seen you in _two months_ , and you never responded to me trying to get it with you even if it was just on the phone.”

“So this is _my_ fucking fault?” Harry shouts incredulously, unable to believe how Matt is trying to justify his actions. “You’ve been fucking this person for two months because your dick felt neglected, and it’s _my_ fucking fault?”

“Well, to be exact, we’ve been going at it for six months now-”

“Shut the fuck _up,_ Gerry,” Matt hisses, at the same time Harry almost shrieks, “ _Six_ months?” Realization dawns on him, and Harry feels his blood run cold. “You’ve been cheating on me even before you proposed?”

“I didn’t know you’d say yes-”

“ _You_ were the one who fucking proposed! You don’t get to fucking collect and select!”

“Harry, come on, you’ve got to admit we were kind of drifting apart even then,” Matt says, and Harry wants to punch him in his stupid mug. “You got so busy with your career that you barely had time for me. I just… looked for somewhere else where I could get it.”

Harry is fuming, and he is certain he has never been this angry in his life. “How _dare_ you use that as a reason? And how _dare_ you fucking cheat on me and then propose? Who the hell does that? And _you_ !” Harry points at Gerry, who’s sitting on the bed - _their_ bed - with a sheepish look on his face. “How can you be okay fucking an engaged man?”

Gerry shrugs. “I don’t know, I do it all the time. Everyone in the music industry does, dude,” he says, and it takes all of Harry’s inner strength and maturity not to storm at him and beat him up to a pulp.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Harry says, glaring at Matt.

Matt holds up his hands in surrender. “Now, wait, Haz, we can still talk this out-”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Harry storms to their walk-in closet and swings open Matt’s cabinets, ripping off every piece of clothing from its hanger and emptying all his drawers. “Get the _fuck_ out of here, I don’t want you in here!”

“What the fuck, Harry?” Matt shouts, and tries to gather all his clothes on the floor. “You can’t just kick me out-”

“Oh, yes, I can!” Harry screams, chucking a particularly heavy coat at Matt’s face. “The lease to this house is on my fucking name. Get off my fucking property before I call the cops on you.”

“Sheesh, Styles,” Matt mutters. “If you hadn’t been so neglectful, this wouldn’t have happened-”

“ _Out_!” Harry screams, lunging forward and raising a fist, and then Matt scampers off with a scared look on his face, Gerry trailing behind.

Harry slumps to the ground in the middle of their walk-in closet, his fists clenching on the carpeted floor. He hears the front door slam downstairs, and the sound of Matt's motorcycle engine gunned outside. He hears the motorcycle speed off, away from this house, away from Harry, and finally his tears come out in waves. He clutches at his face as he screams into his hands, pain and exhaustion weighing down on his bones. It’s like his life with Matt flashes right before his eyes - how they met, all the fun parties they went to, their intimate moments in private, the best mornings cooking for him. _Well_ , Harry supposes bitterly, _they do say_ _this is what we see when something dies._

He reaches for his phone, desperate to get out of this house. He scrambles to his feet as he dials Zayn’s number, and tells him he needs to get the next flight to London with him and start working with J-Grace.

“Already? Didn’t you just get home?” Zayn asks, to which Harry says, “Well, Matt’s been cheating on me, so I’m not staying here any longer than I have to.”

Zayn shouts into the phone in shock, and Harry mumbles about explaining to him later before he hangs up and starts to pack another suitcase. Everything is blurry, thanks to the nonstop tears flowing from his eyes, as he stuffs whatever random piece of clothing he has hanging in his cabinet as he waits for Zayn to come pick him up and whisk him away from this nightmare.

¤

“You’re fucking _kidding_ me, right?”

Liam ducks away from Louis’ fist, sheepish smile on his face not faltering. Louis lunges at him, trying to grab at his shirt to pull him in so he could give him a well-deserved punch in the balls, but Liam’s boxing lessons must be going well because he easily dodges Louis’ clumsy hands and hides behind one of the whiteboards in the conference room of their studio.

Louis is breathing hard as he glares at Liam from across the room, who is poking his head out from the side of the whiteboard.

“Liam, are you _actually_ serious right now?”

“Why is it so hard to believe?”

Louis grabs a whiteboard marker from the conference table in front of him and chucks it at Liam, and Liam quickly ducks back behind the whiteboard. 

“Louis, stop, come on! It’s not that bad!”

“Well, it would have been nice if you told me our new client was _Harry_ before today!” 

At that, Liam pokes his head out again and sends another sheepish smile Louis’ way. Louis sighs, massaging his temples with one hand. It’s been thirty minutes since Louis arrived at the studio, and around 24 minutes since Liam told Louis that Harry’s their “mysterious, sexy new client”, and 23 minutes since Louis has been trying to sock Liam in the balls.

Louis’ phone vibrates in his pocket, and he takes it out to see that Harry has replied to his most recent message. He and Harry have been texting quite frequently over the past few days, ever since Harry suddenly came back to London merely a day after he left for L.A. Louis didn’t pry, instead throwing himself into his work lest he become tempted to see Harry again.

You see, _texting_ Louis can take; but seeing Harry again so soon? Louis’ balls aren’t _that_ big.

Plus, he just made a very embarrassing declaration of love only a few days ago, and though Louis _knew_ Harry wouldn’t say it back in the way Louis wanted him to, the rejection still stung. At the very least, Louis is still too embarrassed to face Harry after that.

And now, Liam’s fucked everything up.

 _No, Louis, I don’t think avocados are the spawn of the devil. Also, I’m otw now to see J-Grace to work on a song! So excited. Wish me luck!_ , Harry’s text reads, and Louis’ stomach churns. How is he supposed to act around Harry now? He feels like his nerves are on fire.

 _Snap out of it, Louis,_ he thinks, as he sends _if you like avocados, maybe you’re the devil. good luck!_ He knows this nervousness is irrational; what they’re going to do here is business. Just business. All professional shit and whatnot.

Louis pockets his phone and pulls out a chair, sitting down with a defeated sigh. “Liam, remind me again why you thought this was a good idea?”

Liam comes out from behind the whiteboard and sits across from Louis. “I thought we needed the money and a big name to attach ourselves to, you know.”

“Well, I think you could stick your head in a bin.”

Liam laughs, and Louis knows he’s pouting, but he can’t help it. He glances at the clock which reads 10:49, eleven minutes until Harry’s supposed to show up for their appointment. If Louis knew him well enough, he’d probably show up a few minutes earlier-

From outside the conference room, he hears the sound of their front door open, and tenses up in his seat. He tries to school his expression into a neutral, professional one, but the amused look Liam shoots at him suggests he wasn’t so successful.

He already hears Harry’s slow, deep, muffled voice from outside, and another man’s voice - could it be Matt? - chimes in. Louis tries to keep himself from fidgeting in his seat. Their front desk secretary answers them cheerfully, and Louis catches her asking them if they want anything to drink. Their voices are getting louder and louder, and as their footsteps draw closer and closer to the conference room door, Louis’ heartbeat just keeps speeding up. He’s bouncing his left leg up and down, a nervous habit he got from his mum.

Then the door swings open, and of course the first thing Louis sees is Harry, _still so goddamn beautiful,_ his curls tucked haphazardly into a beanie. He’s got on a big, excited smile as he thanks the secretary graciously in the charming way he does. As the secretary leaves, he looks up to survey the room, and to Louis’ absolute mortification, immediately meets his eyes.

Harry freezes in his spot, confusion evident in his eyes. His smile doesn’t completely disappear from his face, though it slips a little. Louis can almost hear the cogs in his brain desperately trying to process this moment. For an insane second, Louis wants to laugh at this situation they’ve found themselves in.

“L- _Louis_?” he stammers out, and Louis sighs before standing up and walking over to him.

“Hi, Harry, I’m J-Grace,” Louis says simply, curtly, holding out a hand for him to shake. _Professional. Just be professional._

Harry stares at Louis’ hand like it grew an extra thumb. “Um,” Harry says eloquently, before reaching out and shaking it slowly, gingerly. Louis tries to tamp down the bloody butterflies that erupt in his stomach at the contact.

Then Louis hears Liam giggle from across the table, and shoots him a deadly glare. Liam sticks his tongue out at Louis before he crosses over to Harry and gives him a big hug. “Welcome to Lilo Studio, Harry,” Liam says with a huge smile, and Harry finally tears his eyes away from Louis’ to smile at Liam.

“Thanks, Liam, it’s… good to see you again,” Harry says cautiously, still looking confused as hell.

“Well, I understand your shock, don’t get me wrong,” Liam says, chuckling a little, “but as per our contract, we had to keep our identities confidential from our clients until the last moment.”

“Yes, we thought that was strange,” says a dark-haired man, who Louis hadn’t noticed until now, standing by the door. He crosses over to shake Liam’s hand. “Hi, I’m Zayn, Harry’s manager. We corresponded through email.”

“Of course, of course,” Liam says, and Zayn turns to Louis to shake his hand too. _Damn, this man is gorgeous,_ Louis thinks absentmindedly as he smiles at Zayn.

Liam then gestures towards the conference room seats. “Please, feel free to sit and we can discuss dear Harry’s album.”

Liam crosses over to Louis’ side of the table as Harry sits across from Louis, with Zayn right beside him. Louis can’t seem to keep still, his left leg bouncing up and down and his jaw flexing and unflexing sporadically. He can feel Harry’s eyes boring into his forehead, asking for an explanation. _Actually, I'm obsessed with this songwriter_ , Harry had said about J-Grace - about _Louis_ \- the day they first went grocery shopping, and Louis can feel his own face pink up at the memory. At that moment, their eyes meet, and Louis is startled to see a blush on Harry’s cheeks as well.

Harry clears his throat and averts his eyes towards Liam. “So. I, um, I love your work. Been following you, really. Both of you, I realize that now.”

“Well, Louis really does most of the songwriting,” Liam explains. “I help out with production and management of the studio.”

Louis nods wordlessly, feeling hopelessly awkward all of a sudden.

"And it's just the two of you?" Harry asks.

"Always has been," Liam replies cheerfully.

“That’s… that’s really amazing,” Harry says, and Louis catches the side of Harry’s lips quirk up as they make eye contact again. Louis feels a warmth spread through him at that.

“Thanks,” Louis says, and they smile at each other from across the table.

After another moment of silence, Liam suddenly stands up. “Well, Zayn, we should go over the contracts one more time. Do you mind stepping into my office?” Louis looks at Liam in shock and fishmouths, sending him help signals through his eyes. To Louis' dismay, Liam completely ignores him as he turns towards the door.

“Oh, of course,” Zayn says, and he follows behind Liam.

Before exiting the room, Liam turns around and says, “Lou, give Harry a tour of the studio, would you? Will join you both in a jiffy!” Then suddenly, Louis and Harry are left all alone in the quiet conference room.

An awkward moment of silence. And then-

“So why didn’t you tell me you were J-Grace?”

Louis blushes at Harry’s question, and looks down at his fiddling thumbs. “I didn’t think I had to. I mean, you never really asked.”

Harry huffs, then crosses his arms. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still,” Harry says, meeting his eyes again, “we talked about you in the car once! Remember?”

 _He remembers._ “Yeah, I remember,” Louis says, a smile taking over his face.

Again, pink rises in Harry’s cheeks, and Louis feels the unmistakable urge to make that happen again. “Oh _god_ , I just realized I embarrassed myself then,” Harry says, laughing, slapping a hand over his face. “I told you how absolutely obsessed I was with your lyrics.”

Louis laughs, and his heart does not stop racing. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Styles. This is a place of business. You gotta show me you can keep up.”

Harry smiles at him, all cheeky, and Louis feels his chest tighten at the sight. Can he work with this gorgeous man? Is it even possible? Will he eventually lose his sanity?

“Shall we, Mr. Styles?” Louis says, pushing his thoughts away, instead standing up and gesturing grandly towards the door.

Harry giggles into his ringed fingers, and stands up. “We shall, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Twenty minutes later, Louis and Harry are in the cozy, well-lit control room, complete with a plush sofa pushed against the wall across from the recording equipment and the window looking into the live room.

“And finally, this is our control room, we actually just recently renovated it,” Louis says, “around three months ago, maybe?”

“The room was just waiting for me to show up,” Harry says cheekily, collapsing on the couch and crossing one leg over the other.

Louis snorts, chuckling a little. “Yeah, sure.”

“So how long have you guys been doing this?” Harry asks conversationally as Louis lights up a cigarette. Liam hates the smell, but what’s he going to do, fire Louis?

Louis blows out the smoke before he says, “Four years now, I think.”

Harry lets out a low whistle. “That’s honestly amazing. Lou,” Harry says, and the tone in his voice makes Louis look at him. Harry’s eyes are intense, sincere, and he says, “I’m really in awe of what you guys have done.”

Louis can feel himself blush. Why would Harry say things like that? Does he not know that Louis’ heart rate still picks up a mile a minute whenever he so much as _looks_ at Harry?

“Thanks, Haz,” Louis says, coughing a little, desperate to change the subject lest he do something dumb like hug or kiss Harry full on the mouth. _He’s engaged, you twat._ “Anyway, have you got any material we can already work with?”

Seemingly unperturbed by the change of subject, Harry nods.

“Could you play it for me? I wanna hear what you want this album to sound like.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry says, fiddling with his thumbs. _Is he nervous?_ “It’s not finished yet, though, I only started working on it since I left L.A. three days ago.”

“That’s alright,” Louis says, killing his cigarette in his ashtray. “What instrument do you need?”

“Just the guitar, thanks.”

“Gotcha.”

Louis enters the live room to get an acoustic guitar, then hands it to Harry once he’s back in the control room. Harry accepts it with both hands, gingerly holding it before settling it on one knee. He begins picking at the strings, tuning it by ear, and Louis is immediately transported back to their teenage years. He’s watched Harry do the exact same thing so many times when they grew up, and seeing him do it again tightens his chest at the nostalgia. He watches how Harry’s curls slip out of his beanie, how his deft fingers press at the neck of the guitar, how his tongue sticks out a bit through his lips as he tunes the guitar.

“Perfect,” Harry says, startling Louis out of his staring. To hide his flushed face, Louis turns to grab a chair from behind him and settles in front of Harry, straddling the chair between both legs as he leans his arms and chin on the top of the backrest.

“Okay, just keep in mind it isn’t finished yet, alright?” Harry says, and Louis nods, watching him expectantly. Harry stares at the neck of the guitar for a few seconds before he adds, “So I don’t have a title for it yet, but I’m thinking it could be-”

“Just play the damn song, Haz, I already know I’ll love it,” Louis says with a playful roll of his eyes, and that seems to do the trick because Harry directs a small, nervous smile at him before starting to strum and sing.

 _Sweet creature  
_ _Had another talk about where it’s going wrong  
_ _But we’re still young  
_ _We don’t know where we’re going but we know where we belong  
_ _Oh, we started  
_ _Two hearts in one home  
_ _It’s hard when we argue  
_ _We’re both stubborn, I know_

As Harry continues to sing, their eyes meet for a brief second, and Louis feels like he could drown any second now. He suddenly can’t breathe, listening to the lyrics and Harry's sweet and deep voice, and he can only attribute a little of that to the cigarette he had just finished smoking. He doesn’t want to think it, _no_ , he’s just going to play himself.

But then Harry continues, oblivious to the rolling storm of emotions in Louis’ chest.

 _But, oh, sweet creature, sweet creature  
_ _Wherever I go, you bring me home_  
_Sweet creature, sweet creature_  
_When I run out of road, you bring me home_

Harry strums one last time after a series of falsettos of oooh’s. He looks at Louis then, and there’s an earnest hope and light in his eyes that squeezes at Louis’ heart.

_Two hearts in one home, huh?_

Louis smiles at him, and says with the most absolute sincerity, “Haz, that was fuckin’ beautiful.”

The grin Harry sends his way brings tingles all the way to the tips of Louis’ fingers and toes. “I think I’m gonna call it ‘Sweet Creature’,” Harry supplies, a happy flush on his cheeks.

Louis is totally, unequivocally fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAAAAH this was another huuuge load of my chest and it was both a pleasure and a pain to write. i can't wait to finish the next chapter and bring these two lovable idiots to life with my words like i want to. as always, thank you for sticking with it, and i sure would appreciate any and all comments <3
> 
> as usual, here are the songs I mentioned (though they aren't a lot):
> 
> sign of the times by harry styles – people think it's overplayed but i still love this song yo  
> kiwi by harry styles – a fucking BANGER first chords always get me hyped up af  
> sun queen by gerry cinnamon - this song is just so precious, i feel like i'm on a summer road trip  
> true love waits cover by vitamin string quartet - imagining L&H dancing to this brings me dangerously close to tears, it's embarrassing  
> don't let me go by harry styles – just a small, painful reference to this adorable song  
> sweet creature by harry styles - because this song makes me cry more than it should
> 
> and ofc home by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros again bc it's so cheesy i live for that shit


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